No Vacancy, With Exceptions
by PrettyPurpleHaze
Summary: Completed - It's the summer after Season 1, Harry's struggling with Lauren's summer courses, Dana's struggling with other stuff.
1. Surprise

Title: No Vacancy, With Exceptions [Part 1/?]  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, don't know the people who created/act on/write for/direct/do whatever for the show. Damn ;)  
  
Distribution: Winslow High Library can definitely post it, anyone else: ask.  
  
Rating: Hard R for swearing and sexual situations  
  
Summary: Dana's in trouble, who would she go to? Hmm . . . hard question. I suck at summaries, give me a break. ;)  
  
Feedback: Yes, please, I'd be one happy writer.  
  
Authors Note # 1: I started this directly after the first season of Boston Public. I like the character of Dana Poole. I thought she added a little drama and tension to the show so when she split I had to reprieve her sentence of 'The first-season troublemaker' into something more. Who would read a story just about Dana, though? So I fleshed it out and made it a H/D romance.  
  
AN # 2: This is not grammar perfect. Just a fair warning.  
  
AN # 3: My taste in 'ships has greatly changed since I began this fic a very long time ago. This will probably be my last D/H fanfic aside from the ones I've already written and yet to post [there are quite a few]. It was fun while it lasted, but as time passes, I guess I see that the relationship wasn't quite . . . er, ideal. Anyway, here's the fic.  
  
** It's one a.m. as the glaring red clock tells me and I really do not want to leave my place at the moment. My place is the comfortable; sleep- inducing bed in my room and to leave would be to answer the door that has been knocking for the past five minutes. Of course it isn't knocking on it's own and that's what gets me to leave my pillows and my nice, nice sheet to lay under . . .  
  
I've been seriously deprived of sleep lately and if Guber thinks there's any chance of me taking over anyone's summer courses next year he is smoking a substance that is not legal. In the U.S. anyway.  
  
I've finally managed to climb out of bed and get through the living room that's been covered with various assignment, administrative and news papers for over two days. Eh, it'll get clean someday; it has its dreams. I turn the deadbolt and open the slide lock that I'm shocked my hardly conscious mind remembered to take care of.  
  
I open the door and if I was incredibly drowsy before I'm just as much awake.  
  
You don't see this everyday. And I guess I should say something instead of squinting at her in the hallway light.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
**  
  
"Hi, Mr. Senate. Long time no see, huh?"  
  
I hope I sound like some semblance of normal. My back is aching from the pack I keep hitching higher on my shoulder, it's so filled I think the seams are starting to pull.  
  
"Here's something you don't see everyday," he answers. It hasn't been a good day and if he says some smart-ass comment . . . it'll be just like him. But for the moment he seems like he's too surprised to see me there or too sleepy maybe, it looks like I just woke him up. His hair is a mess and it makes him look . . . nice, off guard, he's wearing some sort of stripped, cotton PJ bottoms and a white T-shirt and he keeps squinting at me. He doesn't seem like he's going to say anything else so maybe I should . . .  
  
What do you say in a situation like this anyway? Maybe . . .  
  
" . . . Surprise."  
  
**  
  
Surprise. Good word for the moment. I haven't seen her in a month and never thought I would again and then here she is. Surprise, a definite Dana affiliated word. Surprised when she kissed me, surprised when she blackmailed me, surprised when it somehow got a quasi-resolved feeling through the year, surprised when I found out she was a stripper and that she was poor . . .  
  
Dana the surprise.  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
Can she come in? Should I let her? She looks uncertain and I guess I should have said something instead of standing in front of her and staring at her after she said that word, her perfect word.  
  
"Mr. Senate?"  
  
"It's one a.m."  
  
Well, it's factual. The only reasonable thing to say now that would make any sense - when I was a kid I never thought summer would have such long working days at a school.  
  
She looks at her watch and then back at me looking even more uncertain than she was.  
  
"Please?" It's quiet when she asks and that can't mean anything good. Something has to be wrong and here she is, maybe it's her job or . . . I have to ask before I know and to do that I have to make the choice.  
  
**  
  
He looks like he's observing me, I don't think he's going to let me come in. I wonder if he can see it in my face, how much I need his help now. Please see it, Mr. Senate.  
  
"If I let you in my apartment are you going to steal anything?"  
  
I think I just sighed in relief. That same expression on his face and . . . and I could feel my own face turning up. A little smile, a smile of remembrance maybe? To think back to when I could lean on his desk and flirt and he'd play along sometimes, but just play, he was never serious.  
  
"Hey." My smile must have started to leave per usual because he waves a hand in front of my face and I try to reconstruct it as best I can. He looks at me all curious and steps aside, nodding his head. "Come in."  
  
**  
  
She walks past and she doesn't smell like she used too. Which brings to light a good question: When the hell did I start to notice the way she smells? What am I, a dog? . . . Scratch that. I don't know but it doesn't matter right now because I'm more focused on her and how she doesn't smell like that expensive perfume as much as she does smoke and something . . . and then I realize she must have come over from the club, that musty, disgusting hole.  
  
She doesn't look like it though, not like she came from there. Her back is to me and she's casual, jeans and a tight little purple top with some little picture on it that's supposed to be cutesy or coy or whatever those little pictures are supposed to be. Her backpack seems like it's weighing her down but she doesn't let go of it, her hand is like a vice on the strap.  
  
It's about then I notice that my apartment is a sty, might as well start talking now before she notices the gathering of glasses on the coffee table that never quite made it to the kitchen.  
  
"How's it going?" Sounds casual, a good lead in for whatever she wants to say. Good start . . . except she isn't saying anything at all. "Dana?"  
  
"It's good," she tells me but it doesn't sound very convincing.  
  
And then she faces me.  
  
I always have seen a certain beauty in Dana, especially when she emotions are raw and right now they're surface. Her eyes are watery and her mouth has a sort of slight slack to it, she seems like she's trying to say something but can't bring herself to do it. Pride I'm sure, it sucks, I know personally.  
  
"You can tell me."  
  
Yeah that's good, point out the obvious. She came here to see me so I'm sure she has inkling that she's pretty comfortable with me.  
  
"I . . . Did you ever do something that, at first you could accept, but then later . . . you grew steadily more ashamed of it?" she asks genuinely curious.  
  
"Yep," I try and quip. "And so ended my affinity for boybands."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
Serious, no skirting around the issue, serious.  
  
"Well, yeah. Everyone has things that they'd rather do over or stuff that they wouldn't do over but still feel bad about."  
  
"Everyone," she repeats to herself like she's proving her point. "Tell that to my mother."  
  
**  
  
"Your mother?" he asks me.  
  
Yep, let that slip too soon. If I start to cry in front of him I'm going to be sick, Harry Senate has seen me cry more than anyone has. And that's just in one year.  
  
"You know, Mr. Senate, I should go."  
  
Simple enough, I already said it so now I'll just walk past him and leave.  
  
But he's grabbed my arm.  
  
"Dana?" And his voice is warm and soft and the kind of tone that makes you want to tell everything because you know it's going to make you feel better. But will it? Or will it make me look worse than I already do?  
  
And then I looked into his eyes like an idiot. They're just as warm and deep, deep brown and if I were that kind of girl I would write a poem about them. But I'm not that kind of girl and I can look away and leave.  
  
I can.  
  
"Mr. Senate, I need some help."  
  
And there goes the theory that I can.  
  
**  
  
"What is it?" I hope she tells me the truth, she wants to, I know, she isn't pulling away from my hold on her arm.  
  
It's hard for her whatever it is and it seems like she almost can't say it. Anything could have happened; maybe she was doing drugs. She didn't look like she was doing drugs though, and she had given up pot once she was busted on school grounds and shook her chances at getting into Smith College. Maybe someone was stalking her from the club or she was ra . . . no, I don't even want to go through the possibilities because they're just going to get steadily worse.  
  
"I don't have anywhere to go," she tells me with teary eyes and a calm tone that tends to waver.  
  
"What?"  
  
"My mother threw me out."  
  
"What? Why?" I didn't know the older Ms. Poole; she hadn't even shown up for her daughter's graduation so I could hardly pass my speculations on why her seventeen-year-old daughter was on the streets.  
  
"She found out about my job. She won't have it in her house."  
  
"So she threw you out, just like that?"  
  
I think I sounded shocked and I guess I am you'd think there would be some sort of discussion. Then again, the Pooles seem to have soft spot for snap decisions.  
  
"Yes, like that," she tells me and it seems like she's annoyed I bothered to have that reaction. Maybe she gets it a lot.  
  
And then I start thinking.  
  
Why did she come here? Because from where I'm standing there's only one question left to be asked.  
  
"Dana, did you come here beca--"  
  
"Mr., Senate, I need a favor."  
  
**  
  
"Woah, woah, stop," he says holding up his hands. "Walked this path, bought the souvenir."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"No, absolutely not."  
  
"Why?" I hope I didn't just whine this would not go well if I whine.  
  
"Because your favors have the potential to be life threatening to, oh, I don't know, ME?"  
  
"Point taken, but still."  
  
Let that be sweet and endearing.  
  
"No."  
  
Obviously not. I could tell him the rest but I'd rather spare myself the humiliation of him knowing my mother called me a whore after she threw her recently emptied gin bottle at me. A whore like me had no place in her house. I suppose she didn't realize that I needed more money than the seventy-two dollar check she got from my father once a month, the same one that went on keeping her in booze for less than a few days.  
  
"Please, I don't have anywhere to go."  
  
"Family?"  
  
"I don't have any in Boston, we only moved here five years ago."  
  
"Friends?"  
  
"They left already for summer college courses or vacation and . . ."  
  
"And those who are still here do not need to know that Dana Poole could use some help?"  
  
Hit the nail on the head. Bastard. He can tell too, just the way he's looking at me I know that he's already figured it out.  
  
"Dana . . ."  
  
"Please?" When all else fails beg . . . Never been one for it myself but I'm on bottom barrel.  
  
"I guess a motel is out of question?" he says and I know he's giving in. Thank God.  
  
"So says my bank. The computers are down and I can't get any cash, it won't be fixed until Monday."  
  
"It's Wednesday!" Okay, so maybe he isn't too happy about that one.  
  
"Thursday, actually?" O-kay, I should stay quiet. I shrug and look at him. "Please?"  
  
And then he looks at me with his observing look, more accurately his one- last-before-I-give-in-look and then he sighs.  
  
"Just for tonight."  
  
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"  
  
My bookbag hits the ground with a thud at all of the clothes I managed to pack inside and I throw my arms around him neck. He's not responding but at least he's not shoving me off either.  
  
**  
  
No matter what I'm not going to give into a hug, she's staying here, that's enough. She steps back and looks at me with this serene, utter joyful expression that makes me want to feel guilty for having doubts. She's grinning and happy and suddenly I remember that I have a five a.m. wake-up and I'm dragging my ass in daylight hours, that and I am avoiding all possibilities that I'll end up smiling in front of her. Unlikely but you never know.  
  
"Good night, Dana." I walk towards the open door to my bedroom and consider, no 'sweet dreams' or 'sleep tight', nope very impersonal, pretty P.C. if I say so myself.  
  
"Wait. Mr. Senate?"  
  
So close, so far.  
  
I spin to see her look at me again, just as happy, maybe a little unsure again. Now what?  
  
"Who gets the bed?"  
  
Oh yeah, should have figured that one. But she's come in here and has managed to stay, bottom line: She isn't getting my bed.  
  
**  
  
"I get the bed."  
  
No nonsense in that answer, not very gentlemanly. I look at the couch, navy blue, worn and saggy, looks kind of clean but with that dark color you really can't tell and . . .  
  
"Well, we can always sha--"  
  
"NO. No sharing under this roof," he says firmly. You'd think he suspects any minute I'm going to tackle him and stick my tongue down his--  
  
"I'm not going to tackle you and shove my tongue down your throat." . . . Said that before thinking it through, even had the annoyance and slight fringe of anger, threw my arm out for added effect. Good going, I must be trying to get myself thrown out twice in one night. He has that look that's a cross between a comment ready to be thrown out and that he's not sure I just said what he thought I said.  
  
"I'm going to bed," he answers, a little bit baffled at what just went on. Hey, I made him baffled, one for me.  
  
"So early?"  
  
He disappeared in his room and came out with a pillow and cover that looks light enough for the warm weather. He drops them before heading back and calling over his shoulder at me.  
  
"I have summer programs tomorrow, it isn't early, it's after one-thirty."  
  
Closed door.  
  
He gave me a pillow, which is something.  
  
**  
  
Loonngg night, nice bed, sleep now. I plop down and try not to think of what just transpired or the girl currently occupying my couch. My couch, with the spring that sticks in your back when you even attempt a nap . . .  
  
I do have the bed . . .  
  
I'll admit I do groan a little, I have to get out of bed *and* give up my pillow so she can put it over the spring. I could feel that morning headache now; I hate sleeping without a pillow.  
  
I open the door and she jumps. The hall light is still the only thing making the room visible and she's trying to fix a bed and doing a good job of it. Her bookbag is against the coffee table leg and I can see she is already taking some things out. How she fit even half the stuff on the table in there is a pure impossibility, not to mention the bag isn't even empty.  
  
"There's a spring that sticks up, you can use this."  
  
Pillow handed and I even get a grateful expression, I feel like I'm being an ass. Maybe I should let her have the bed.  
  
"You know, you shouldn't have to sleep on the couch, you are the guest - much as I tried to prevent it - you should take the bed."  
  
She looks a little amazed, like a shocked her, but then she smiles again.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Senate."  
  
She collects her things and a pillow, throwing me a look as she goes, until it's all gathered. She's in my room and my door is closed before I see what's happened. Yes, she did agree. I look to the navy piece of furniture that's served me well. Yep, that is my bed.  
  
And she took the pillow too. 


	2. Staying

Something is clattering, why is there clattering things? My mother hasn't woken before noon since I was in seventh grade. And a buzzing, an alarm clock I think. When the hell did I set my alarm clock?  
  
I open my eye and come face to face with a cluttered night table with a man's watch staring at me. Oh yeah. That clues me in as well as the slight knocking on the door. The alarm gets a swipe that seems to trigger something that makes it quiet. The sheet gets pulled up more and I try to mutter a response that's close enough to real words.  
  
"Come in."  
  
I should probably sit up; lying with my face buried in a drooled on pillow probably isn't my most flattering position. The door opens and he pokes his head in like it isn't even his room.  
  
"Morning."  
  
"Mmm, morning," I manage.  
  
"I just need to get some clothes." With that he goes about his business like he doesn't even see a barely clothed me sitting up and watching him. But morning does good things to him. Bending over does good things too . . . Whom do I thank for the fact he keeps socks in the bottom drawer?  
  
No, shake my head, shake the thoughts. Leave it at Winslow High, I have enough problems to deal with. Still, it's nice to look.  
  
**  
  
She's going to burn a hole right through my back. I'm not going to look at her. Just what I need, start the day with her in some little tank top pajama thing. Yeah, that'll help. I would probably have tried to sneak out without even entering this domain of newly 'peachy' smells if I had remembered to take my clothes last night. Not to mention that I have to go through here to get to the bathroom and check if the spring pierced my lung. Good chance. I had tried to position it last night for comfort but in the morning I ended up with a crick in my neck, and a spring in some major organ.  
  
"Mr. Senate?"  
  
Don't talk, don't look, just go.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
I talked, I looked, and I didn't go. Figures.  
  
She's like one of those 60's centerfold pin-ups, sitting coy and innocent on a bed in something that, while not blatantly showing everything, was meant to pull at your imagination. If I didn't know better mine would be pulling . . . I do know better.  
  
"I just wanted to thank you, for letting me stay here and everything."  
  
"You need help and I'm your teacher, it's my duty," I say with some sense of humor. Some may think I don't know when my jokes are lame but they would be wrong, I know - I just say them anyway. How else would I avoid a suffocating uncomfortable situation?  
  
"You're not my teacher, Mr. Senate."  
  
Like this one.  
  
And now she's pissed, perfect, just the best. I need to get out of here, find another time and place to make her understand that that is how I see her and how I always will, maybe I could just say that . . . that's not convincing - Even though it's true, completely true.  
  
True.  
  
**  
  
Teacher. He is *not* my teacher. He's trying to be so clear, trying to draw that line. Well he shouldn't have glanced at my chest when he turned around, kind of turned the whole statement.  
  
"I was your teacher and it still feels that way."  
  
I guess that's suppose to be an explanation, but the way he says it is like he's trying to enforce it. Not a chance.  
  
"Well drop the feeling, you're not my teacher, Guber is not trailing the halls and Big Boy is not outside the door so don't try to act like we're back in school."  
  
He's just looking at me; I need to think things out before I talk.  
  
"You're right."  
  
I'm right?  
  
"I'm right?"  
  
"Yes, you are. You're not a student." Did I just win? "But that doesn't mean I can instantly stop treating you like one."  
  
So close.  
  
"Well you know what, *Harry*," I start. I can feel the frustration racing through me as I throw off the sheet that was hardly covering me and head for the bathroom. "Get used to it because we aren't in class, we're in your bedroom."  
  
I make sure to slam the door and now . . . and now I have to find somewhere to go after he throws me out.  
  
**  
  
Now I bet she's taken my hot water. She just slammed a door in my face, maybe not my face as I am a few feet away but it's the same effect. She's pissed, extremely pissed. This is more and more like a relationship on the first damn day, she's living with me, I got kicked out of my room, she's pissed off at me, slamming doors, and we have the potential to argue over bathroom time. Maybe it isn't in the right order per usual but I don't think we'd ever have any completely normal interaction anyway. What's the fun in that though?  
  
All right, my options: I can knock on the door and try and work this out or I can run in the other direction.  
  
Thinking.  
  
Thinking.  
  
Run?  
  
Fuck.  
  
**  
  
"Dana?"  
  
Ugh, my reflection leaves much to be desired. The little bathroom mirror doesn't hide anything, including the blotchy red eyes I have from crying. He's knocking on the door softly and I have to answer him, it's not like he could think I left already in this one-way-out room. The window is NOT an option I want to explore on the fourth floor.  
  
But it's a room I'm extremely grateful to be in, I'll take this over a box any day.  
  
"Yeah, Mr. Senate?" Okay, scratchy voice shows I'm strong. And, yes, that was sarcasm - but maybe it made me sound fragile and likely to go nuts if I have to live on the streets. That could work.  
  
"Dana, come out please, I need to talk to you."  
  
Sad face, show the sad face and pray it works . . .  
  
**  
  
The door clicks open and she comes out with an expression of complete sadness. Gradually feeling worse and . . . yep, there it is. Immense guilt.  
  
"Sit on the bed please."  
  
She won't even look at me and she doesn't even look mad, just upset, but she does what I ask.  
  
"I . . . You're right."  
  
**  
  
Right? Two times now, this has to be some sort of record, him admitting, or me getting the credit.  
  
"About?" I ask him as I look up. He's all fidgety and it's so cute.  
  
That isn't good. Not from an anti-notice of cute Senate point of view . . . wait . . . whatever.  
  
"I'm not your teacher anymore, I'm not even an authority to you."  
  
"So far *you're* right."  
  
That was smartass but I deserve it. He gives me a look but doesn't get off subject.  
  
"I think we need to clear this up, start new."  
  
"What do you suggest?"  
  
"Call me Harry."  
  
"What?" What?  
  
"Call me Harry, if you don't call me Mr. Senate maybe I won't feel like Mr. Senate."  
  
"Harry. I can live with that, _Harry_."  
  
"Good to know," he says dryly.  
  
**  
  
At least she's smiling; it's that smartass smile though so maybe it's not a great sign.  
  
"Okay. Well, I have to get to work so I'll be taking over the bedroom now." She's less than responsive. "Dana?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Okay, I'll just go . . . get breakfast."  
  
"Good, okay, you owe me it," I smile as I grab a towel that I have yet to put away as with most of my laundry. I'm really not this messy but with all Lauren's summer courses dumped in my lap in edition to my tutoring classes it's been a little slow around here.  
  
Lauren, I haven't talked to her in about a week. She insisted on being alone for a while, it really isn't my fault I took over her classes, they were practically hurled at my head.  
  
I don't need to think of this now.  
  
I close the bathroom door behind me and think of how happy I am to be out of the line of Dana-wrath. A shower, that's what I need, a shower to clear my head. She wasn't in the bathroom long enough to shower so I won control over the hot water, for now at least. A nice shower, yeah, then it will all be sorted out . . . It's summer and I don't have air conditioning . . . Why was I so worried about a hot shower?  
  
This is going to be a long, confusing day.  
  
**  
  
How am I supposed to cook?  
  
Not that I know how to cook.  
  
Which is beside the point anyway.  
  
The man has minimal groceries, no bacon, eggs, not even bread. I open the cupboards and I do find something . . . Is it even possible to eat that much cereal? Obviously not since there is about ten different boxes complete with dust on some.  
  
Okay, so I'll just get some bowls. Yep, he has bowls and . . . What would his favorite cereal be? Three seem like he actually chooses them from the bunch so . . . I'll set them up nicely in a row. There, nice. Count Chocula, Frosted Flakes, and Cheerios. Mm-mm, good, now . . . instant coffee, perfect. Directions and everything, this could work. An almost well balanced breakfast.  
  
**  
  
A tee-shirt with the Boston Red Sox emblem, jeans, and a hope that Guber doesn't see me in informal clothing. I just don't need it. I need a breath of preparation, okay, good idea. Dana-preparation. Okay, maybe deep breaths aren't good considering the spring dug in my side all night and now I have a bruise there. I need a new couch.  
  
I open the door to the smell of coffee, it's a nice smell considering summer is such an off season it's hell to get up on time let alone have coffee. I'm not saying it always happens but there have been some days that I've been reduced to a spoonful of instant coffee grounds dumped in my mouth. It's not a recommendation; it's not tasty.  
  
"That smells good." And the award for obvious and unoriginal things to say goes to me, thank you very much.  
  
"Yeah, I'm a bit of a cook," she tells me. When I sit down she sets a cup of coffee in front of me and I can't help but look a little suspicious. She catches me and quickly grabs a box of cereal and offers it to me with a smile.  
  
Dana Poole, a nervous smile, some barely there pajama set, and my favorite cereal. There is something I'm supposed to be getting at this moment. Not that. No, not that, and I even shake my head to knock out the idea. I mean, generally, there is some idea I'm supposed to be picking up here, maybe that I never thought this scene would occur in a million years.  
  
Make that two million.  
  
Three.  
  
"Mr. Senate?"  
  
"Yeah?" I ask as I get back on focus and reach for the box.  
  
"I was wondering if I could talk to you about something."  
  
No. I already know what it is and NO.  
  
She takes a seat across from me and has her nervous/anticipation eyes glued to my hands as they pour milk and strangely enough it isn't the worst feeling I've ever had. Just her eyes . . . I clear my throat and she looks at me with a little tweak of her mouth.  
  
"Good coffee?"  
  
"I haven't tasted it yet."  
  
"Right, um, I can make coffee really well . . . And I'm usually up to make it so someone who wakes up while I go to bed will already have a ready made pot."  
  
No, no, no.  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"Don't you think that's a good thing?" she asks softly while her eyes are glued to me.  
  
I shake my head and look at the wood of the tabletop because maybe I don't want to see her face when I tell her --  
  
"Please, Mr. Senate - Harry. Please, I need somewhere to stay."  
  
And with that pleading tone all my 'no's are quickly wussing out.  
  
"How about we talk about this later?"  
  
I didn't say that. I couldn't have said that . . . That was my voice though. Shit.  
  
"Later it is." And she's smiling. Okay, now I have to crush her later rather than right now, I'm just prolonging it. This is a *bad* idea.  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"I'm going to get dressed."  
  
She had to know I was going to say something because she up and gone.  
  
All this . . . I couldn't just have slept through the knocking on the door, nope, I had to get up.  
  
Idiot.  
  
**  
  
Talking later is a good thing, an EXCELLENT thing as long as he doesn't talk right now. I know what he wants to say but I'm going to change his mind, I have to change his mind because the truth is I have no banking problems. Monday will come and go and it won't help because I don't have enough money to last more than a week in a crappy hotel if I want to make tuition and books and . . .  
  
And I have to have somewhere to stay for about two months. I hope it's here.  
  
Talk about Mission: Impossible.  
  
But I have to make it. Half of my missing bank account tells me that. My mother saw to it. She ran out of whiskey and found my purse instead, with my bankcard and the scrap of paper I wrote my account number on. In four days she drained me from seven different ATMs . . .  
  
But what can I do? I can't send her to jail.  
  
She's my mother.  
  
All I could do was get the card back and change my number. Afterwards is when she wondered where that money had come from, not before when she was spending it. I don't know how she found out but my only question is did she throw me out because I worked at a strip club or because I wouldn't give her any more money?  
  
And now I really need funds for school, I really need a place to live.  
  
I really need to choose my clothes carefully today. If I wear something that makes him want to look than he's not going to want me to stay. Who'd thought that there would be a day that I wouldn't want Harry Senate to take a look? I think a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt, it's a little fitted but I think it will do okay. I definitely need a bra today.  
  
I'm just finishing up my hair when I hear his knock on the door.  
  
I am not letting him in, if I do he'll want to talk and we are NOT talking right now.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"I'm, I'm getting dressed." That'll keep him out . . . course now if he thinks of me half dressed it will be exactly the opposite what I wanted. Simplicity in any situation is always impossible for me.  
  
I sigh and secure my ponytail before I stand next to the door.  
  
"I'm going to be late for work so I'm going to leave now," he says through the door.  
  
"Okay, see you after. Bye, have a good day." And go away please before you realize I can't be taking this long to throw on something to open the door.  
  
". . . Bye."  
  
I have to press my ear to the door but I hear him go and sigh with relief. Talk later, later, later. I lean against the door and hope he'll change his mind, hope he'll let me stay, and hope I forget how incredible he looks in jeans.  
  
** 


	3. Roomates?

"Wait, Mr. Senate, when are these things due? I have a summer job and I can't be sitting around doing these stupid worksheets."  
  
"Not sitting around doing these stupid worksheets because of your winter job is what got you into a study program in the first place," I tell Kyle Gregger. He just makes some clicking noise and slumps in his seat and I give him the only advice I can. "Just do the sheets, I know you can and so do you, do the work and you won't have to go through the course this year."  
  
He seems to have accepted it and starts writing his name on the papers. I look around to the rest of the study class and see them all doing their individual things. Which sucks for me. Now I have time to think. Great.  
  
What am I supposed to do? Can I really have a former student living in my apartment with me? Obvious answer: No. But how am I suppose to tell her that? And what is the real reason anyway? Is it the fact that she's a former student or is it because I could possibly see Dana as . . . As nothing, no I see her as a student and nothing else.  
  
And she needs help.  
  
And a student in need . . . This is narrowing down into very few options.  
  
It's only a few days.  
  
Maybe.  
  
No. No, I can't do it.  
  
**  
  
I have exactly twenty dollars that I can spare and how exactly am I suppose to stock a kitchen with that? I do have more than twenty, nearly sixty- five, but if I get tossed out tonight I have to have a little money to stay somewhere.  
  
I roam the aisles of the grocery store and I realize I've never really shopped for practical purpose before. I've been here before but only to pick up a few things, milk, TV dinners, bread, but nothing major because I never made anything major. Although my mother stopped cooking when I was nine I never learned, instead going to the fun world of frozen, prepackaged dinners and peanut butter sandwiches. But it was different now.  
  
I had to prove I am a good roommate. A roommate that makes phenomenal meals. And I can do it.  
  
I know I can.  
  
I do.  
  
And if all else fails there's always the freezer isle.  
  
I've now taken my cart down the path of canned foods; I don't know about Mr. Senate but Chef Lazani Saucy holds a little part of my heart. Who knows, maybe if I make homemade ravioli it would taste *exactly* like that of the good chef . . . Hmm, then why bother trying? Just get a few cans and viola, done. And I wouldn't be lying; it's homemade, made at home . . . heated up at home.  
  
Same thing.  
  
I should check prices. I never looked at prices before; my job pays well to say the least, but now is conserving time. I still don't have enough 'expense' money for college, I should have stopped buying clothes a long time ago but I didn't so now nearly every cent I get has to be saved.  
  
If this truly is 'adulthood' I'm off to a bad start.  
  
Now what do I buy? Milk, right, milk, bread, basics. See? I can do this.  
  
**  
  
"Harry, you better hide, Guber's coming," Marilyn warned.  
  
The teacher's lounge didn't provide many places for said hiding. I chose to sit here and hope for the best. It works because Guber doesn't bother to stop in. I let out a breath in relief because even if I didn't care that the twisted organization fanatic disapproved of my informal clothing I didn't want to hear him go over it for the next twenty minutes either.  
  
"His rules are ridiculous," I complained to Marilyn as she sat down across from me. She was saddled with one of Lauren's courses as well as two of her own for Summer school and study group. "It's not like he chastises the female staff for wearing those paper thin skirts in this heat."  
  
"Then wear a skirt, in fact, *please* wear a skirt. Just let me know beforehand so I can bring a camera."  
  
I must not be giving an exactly amused face because she just smiles and sips the lemonade we stole from the refrigerator. I'm sure it's Guber's so at least that makes the day a little sweeter.  
  
"What's up with you today? You look like you've been up for forty-eight hours straight," she questions.  
  
I'm too comfortable to look directly at her and answer so I stay with my head leaned on the back of the couch. "It's those damn infomercials, specially that super fast cooker thing, sucks you right in."  
  
"I've seen that, with the internal cooker, frozen steaks done, and everything cooks with . . ."  
  
I look over and she seems totally unashamed.  
  
"What? I want one of those."  
  
Back to the ceiling and I decide not to throw some smart-ass remark out because I'm being nice . . . or maybe just because I'm too tired to think of one. It's happening far too often these days.  
  
"You sure nothing's bothering you?" She sounds a little worried and I know she's thinking I'm staying up nights because I haven't see Lauren for a while, or even talked to her.  
  
I've got bigger problems than that right now.  
  
"No, I'm fine, sleepy but fine. I have one more hour of class then I can go home," I yawn. This couch is comfortable; I could sleep on this couch . . .  
  
"Hello all." There is a smile in that voice. I don't want to hear smiles right now.  
  
"Hi, Milton," Marilyn says from her chair.  
  
"Hello to you. Harry! How is life treating you?"  
  
"Like I'm its bitch, Milton, thanks for asking," I say sarcastically.  
  
"Someone isn't dapper today."  
  
"What are you doing here?" I ask annoyed along with another yawn that just escaped my mouth.  
  
"Picking up the love of my life," he says with a dreamy tone. I don't need to hear dreamy tones either, especially from a grown man.  
  
"You an Lisa Grear are back together?" I ask and I even look at him for this one. The last I heard she had unceremoniously dropped him, not the nicest thing to do once you consider he gave up a lot of respectability just to be with her . . . Ah, parallels to my life, great. Wait, I'm wrong, because I am no where near that whole debacle of a relationship. I wouldn't put myself in that position.  
  
I'm serious.  
  
"Back together and better than ever before."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Uh-huh," he says, sitting on the couch back and looking off into . . . I don't know, he's being an idiot. "We have something special, we can't stay away from each other so it was really inevitable that we would be together again."  
  
. . . Okay.  
  
"You sure she isn't yanking you around? Getting back for that double homework in sophomore year?"  
  
Didn't mean to say that. . . Eh, yeah I did.  
  
He looks at me sharply and defends himself. "Yes, I'm sure and I was never her teacher. We have a connection, Harry. It's spiritual."  
  
"And physical."  
  
Another sharp look.  
  
"And I'm sure you don't have anything to compare to that - oh, wait, I seem to remember a student - Now what was her name . . . Diana, Deana, no, it was Dana. Yes, Dana Poole," he responds with so much mocking it could choke a horse.  
  
I do what anyone would.  
  
I say screw you and then stew in my spot on the couch. It works for me anyway. Marilyn who's been watching the whole thing without a word shakes her head and stands.  
  
"I have a class now, it's been fun." She says her good-byes and is gone. I hear Milton stand and then shuffle for a minute before he comes around the couch to sit down. I look over at him and he has a guilty look as he stares at the table.  
  
"I'm sorry, I know you don't like to talk about the whole Dana thing." Now it's my turn to look at him sharply but he goes on anyway. "But that's how I feel about Lisa, I don't want to talk about it. Not like that. She means everything to me and I'll defend her through anything."  
  
He sounds all valiant and sure of himself. He's happy with her, happier than he was a year ago. It's kind of a hopeful sight. But I don't want that hope because it'll lead to things I do not need.  
  
But I get it. I get his dedication. And I know he's heading for a crash because Lisa Grear is not going to be Mrs. Buttle one day and, ultimately, I think that's what he wants. I don't know someone who can look at a woman and already know he wants to spend his life with her. I wonder if he even knows it yet or if it's just floating around in his subconscious. That wouldn't be me. I'm smarter than that and I know what to do and what not to . . .  
  
Dana has to move.  
  
**  
  
It smells really good in here, it's sweltering too, but that's pretty much the point. Because I made something that will prove . . . prove what? Something good I hope. Because I made blueberry muffins.  
  
Not MADE-made.  
  
I did take them out of the bakery box.  
  
And I put the oven on so it was hot and seemed like I baked.  
  
And I put them in a muffin tin and heated them up so it seems like I just pulled them out.  
  
So I did all the basics, I just didn't make them *originally* . . .  
  
Like the lasagna.  
  
But I heated it up, and, really, isn't that most of the 'cooking' thing right there? I did make the garlic bread . . . and it's a little mushy, and it's a little burnt on the bottom but still good, it balances itself out. Now I just have to wait for Harry.  
  
Harry who is opening the door right now.  
  
Show time.  
  
**  
  
I enter a sweltering apartment and feel the heat smack me in the face. But then I smell good things.  
  
In the average single guy's home that is a RARE thing.  
  
And it's clean.  
  
I see a set-up here.  
  
"Dana?" I call out casually.  
  
She appears before me with a little pair of shorts and a white shirt that is nice and . . . and the smells. The smells are good and different and --  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"I made dinner," she announces with a big smile. Her hair is piled on top of her head and spikey bits are falling down on her face and sticking to her forehead and her eyes sparkle with . . . hope.  
  
I can't tell her now. After dinner, I will. I will.  
  
"Let's eat?"  
  
She nods and I guessed correctly, it is done and we can eat, then I can tell her. She leads me, and it doesn't take very far, into the small kitchen and I sit down to a plate. Lasagna stares back at me and it doesn't look bad, in fact it looks pretty good.  
  
"Taste it," she urges from my side.  
  
**  
  
"I guess I'll taste it," he humors.  
  
He looks a little nervous as he picks up his fork. It's good, I already know, of all the frozen Italian food I tasted - which is a lot - this is the best. The fork with layers of pasta, sauce, cheese, and meat slowly approached his mouth. He has a really beautiful mouth--  
  
Lasagna.  
  
Tasting lasagna. Focus on that.  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"Thank you," I say graciously and practically bounce over to my chair. I see his eyes dart to my legs and then back to his plate and I think maybe I shouldn't have changed from my jeans, but if I didn't I would have died from heat exhaustion, you gotta make some sacrifices. "So, how was your day?"  
  
"Good, everyone cooperated." A set-up and I smile.  
  
"Didn't have to pull the gun?"  
  
"Slow day. This is really good."  
  
"Worked all day." Not a total lie, I did work to find it, just didn't work to make it.  
  
This is going well, there is a whole good feeling happening here.  
  
"I can't believe you made this, I know you didn't find these ingredients here. Not unless this is really made out of corn flakes and mustard."  
  
"Which is why I go out and get things, pitch in for food and stuff . . ." I trail off but he looks a little uncomfortable so I clarify it. "Like roommates do."  
  
He sets down his fork and stares down as he breathes an impending sigh of bad news.  
  
"Dana . . ."  
  
"I made muffins!"  
  
It's not Shakespeare's smooth tongue but I'm desperate.  
  
**  
  
She jumps out of the chair and brings over a tin, holding it carefully with an ugly yellow potholder I forgot I had. I have the burns to prove it. They are . . . perfect. Dana Poole made perfect muffins. I look up at her and she's hopeful again, but not the home etc. type.  
  
"You made those?"  
  
"Taste them."  
  
They look perfect but looks can be deceiving. I learned that a long time ago. But I trust her - even if it doesn't look like she sampled them first.  
  
I'm just staring at them before she gets, I don't know, impatient or nervous, so she sets them on the table and breaks a piece off of one of the warm treats and I follow it to her mouth. It opens an accepts the morsel without preamble and I just watch as her pillowed lips close and barely touch the tips of her fingers . . .  
  
She HAS to move.  
  
"Mmm," she coos out.  
  
She has to move NOW.  
  
She opens her eyes that close in what seemed to by extreme pleasure and she smiles. "Try some."  
  
I blink and clear my throat before I reach out and take a whole muffin out, it's a little warm but I wouldn't care if I was holding a red hot poker right now as long as I didn't have to focus on the main attraction beside me. I open my mouth and, undignified, stuff the better part in and nod.  
  
"Good," I say with a full mouth when I finally look at her and that smile lifts a little more. She does make good stuff, even if the lasagna tastes suspiciously like it was Mama Geloli's Frozen Cuisine. I know my bachelor food. But she did it for a purpose, she did it to make me want her to stay and what can I say to that?  
  
How can I throw her out?  
  
She can stay one more night.  
  
But I get the bed.  
  
**  
  
It worked. I . . it worked. He smiled and told me, completely relaxed, that I could stick around if I wanted. Muffins work, I'm going to by a hell of a lot more muffins because he even helped me clear the dishes.  
  
Course he isn't going to help me wash them.  
  
And he said he gets the bed.  
  
**  
  
The spring pinches me still but the extra pillow I found helps. Not much.  
  
And Dana is probably in there because . . . because I'm an idiot and I need to not feel guilty at other people enduring 'The Devil Spring'. Now she's enjoying the bed, soft and nice and . . . Okay, thoughts turning from the bed to other things that just don't need to be turned to.  
  
I am getting another couch TOMORROW. This is ridiculous; it never hurt this much when I fell asleep watching Letterman. It has to be this pillow; it's not positioned right and if I could just . . . Maybe if I lift up a little before I pull it out, a little faster . . .  
  
**  
  
CLANK! THUMP!  
  
What was that?  
  
The shirt I had been removing is back on as I rush out, flinging open the bedroom door, for a sight that is . . . quite . . . funny.  
  
But laughing isn't going to endear me to Harry.  
  
Too bad I already started. And the evil eye he's giving me is just making me laugh harder. 


	4. Deal Breaker

HARD R CHAPTER  
  
**  
  
Laughing at me. She's getting thrown out. I sit up and rub my shoulder that became too well aquatinted with the coffee table before I hit the floor. Pulling a pillow out from under me and having to roll over on a couch that's entirely too small . . . either I'm getting dumber or I need more sleep.  
  
She's approaching me and she seems on the verge of busting up at any moment. Again.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asks as she sits on the couch then, feeling the spring digging into her, she jumps up again. She looks at the worn cushion, then me.  
  
And peals of delighted giggles again descend on my head and drop kicks my ego.  
  
I stand up and look down at her. I don't want an argument, I don't want a disagreement, and I just want sleep.  
  
"*I* get the bed tonight."  
  
And with that I gather as much dignity as I can and go into my bedroom. I also almost trip twice from the sheet tangled over my feet but I kick it off and slam the door. Outside I hear her again, gasping for breath. Why shouldn't she laugh? It's me, Harry Senate, Life's bitch.  
  
But there is my bed, all ready for me to jump in. The room smells like fake 'peach' but I don't care, it's kind of nice, good to lull you to sleep - not that I need lulled in the exhausted state I'm in. I pull off my tee shirt and then go over and pull off the light blanket, it's extremely thin but it's even too hot for that. I think the weather forecast is calling for a heat wave and I don't have the luxury they call 'air conditioning'. The only working fan I have is in the living room but I can't make my feet turn and get it, too tired.  
  
I settle for just falling, face first, onto her mattress and hugging a pillow that actually feels slightly cool to the touch. Perfect. Sleep time. Now.  
  
**  
  
I finally catch my breath and wipe the slight tears from my eyes. I hope he's not too pissed in the morning. The couch is a mess with pillows and a sheet on and off of it leading to the bedroom. I feel a faint smile and I can't deny it, I'll sleep here tonight. I'm off until tomorrow night so I get to enjoy going to sleep a normal hour, all though 10:30 is a little too normal for me but I'm not picky.  
  
But I am sweaty.  
  
The apartment feels like it's broiling, even with the open windows, well, two windows, one in the living room and bedroom. I feel sticky and horrible and I need a shower. I quietly approach the door and turn the handle enough to peek my head inside. I have to get through the room quietly.  
  
I step in and the light is still on, the blanket is on the floor and Harry's laying there with his hands holding a pillow his head is on and his back is facing me, his gloriously bare back. I could trace the muscles, still tense even in his sleep. His hair is so dark against the white pillowcase and he looks incredible in light blue pajama bottoms. He must have threw off his tee shirt when he came in because of the heat and I wonder how long it is before he loses the perfunctory sleepwear . . .  
  
I shake my head and realize I may have been standing here and staring at him for a long time since I can't even recall *how* I got to be standing closer to the bed than the bathroom. I turn on heel and look only at the floor as I make my way into the bathroom and close the door softly.  
  
**  
  
I jerk awake when I hear something clatter and turn over to look in the direction I heard it from. Dana must have had to use the bathroom and as I look I can't even keep my head up to it falls back to the pillow I still clutch, considerably warmer now. The green neon numbers of the alarm clock tells me it's 11:08; I still have a lot of time to sleep. Sleep . . .  
  
**  
  
I crack the door open and feel remarkably better, cooler and more put together . . . Not that the torrent of thoughts about Harry in various stages of undress were bad exactly, just . . . distracting, very distracting. Good shower thoughts no doubt, but distracting the same.  
  
He's still sleeping, I can see that, but he's changed positions, still on his stomach but if his eyes were open he could see me now, standing here in nothing but a towel, the thought is mortifying but a lot more exciting. I had left my clothes when I went to take my quick, cool-down and now I'm not regretting it very much.  
  
I swing the door open and stand in the doorway, ready to run inside if need- be. The courageousness shooting through every tingling part of my body would flee like a bat out of hell if he so much peek -- it would take me with it too. I'd run back into the sanctuary behind me and jump into the bath tub, flinging the curtain shut with a bright red, blushing hand that would match the rest of me.  
  
But for now I have bravery blooming in me, enough to take a few steps into the room and still stare at Harry lying there with a peace-filled face. My hair is still wet and cool in the humid night but the rest of me is quickly getting into the pace of a summer filled night - absolutely sweltering. I know that my nipples are pretty evident now behind the cotton towel I have a grip on and I can't stand to let my legs come together because every little brush of movement is making my breath become a little heavier.  
  
All this from watching Harry sleep.  
  
It's happened before; sitting in his class and watching him pace back and forth in front of me. Wearing a skirt, crossing my legs and having my thigh muscles - among others - unconsciously tensing then relaxing . . . let's just say I've come close to what usually seems so very far away.  
  
But it was never this intense.  
  
But I was never just wearing a towel before either.  
  
And I wonder . . . With a glance at the dresser . . . I had already put my clothes there a few hours ago, hoping Harry wouldn't mind, hoping I'd . . . Would it be completely wrong to do what I'm about to do? My body tells me no but . . . But my mind tells me he's sleeping, pretty much a unanimous vote here doubts isn't allowed right now.  
  
**  
  
Click. A damn click. Why is every noise waking me up tonight? I can't get into a deep sleep no matter what. Probably something unconscious about my problems or, or I don't care I just want to go to sleep. I try to open my eyes to see what time it is but since the alarm isn't screaming in my ear know it's isn't time for work. I manage to see through the sliver my tired eyes allow me to open and . . .  
  
I think my chest is going to explode.  
  
No, not explode. It's just a shock to the heart is all.  
  
Haven't I learned by now? Surprise is the word, when it has to do with Dana it's 'surprise' and does it EVER have to do with Dana.  
  
She's standing facing the dresser giving me a complete side view of - She's looking.  
  
My eyes snapped shut and they were pretty wide before. Not so sleepy now.  
  
I slowly peer at her again and she's back to looking at something on the bureau top. A night gown. And panties. And no bra. And she isn't wearing any combination of those things right now. She isn't wearing ANYTHING right now.  
  
She looks a little nervous and - She's looking.  
  
. . . . Okay, I think it's best to keep my eyes open just enough to see her because she keep shooting me looks and - And what am I DOING? I shouldn't be formulating plans on how to be a peeping Tom right now.  
  
Then I should really find the strength to shut my eyes.  
  
It's not working.  
  
She's so beautiful; her hair is soaked and loose down her back and all the skin, NAKED. Her doe eyes look at the clothes and she bites her lips, amazing lips that makes you think of things that you shouldn't think involving those lips in different situations . . .  
  
She glances over but this time I'm ready and she can't even tell I'm watching except, she looks very unsure and I hope she doesn't grab her things and go into the bathroom. But she doesn't instead she closes her eyes and lifts one gentle hand and traces it down her graceful neck and over her collarbone, onto her . . . onto her breasts, with . . .  
  
I want to move so badly because I'm getting hard myself and it's not easy being pressed into the mattress like this but moving is impossible. I'm not going to move an inch until . . . until what? Until she leaves, until she goes too far . . . until I do something?  
  
. . . No. I won't do anything. And I hope she doesn't either, I hope for both our sakes. Neither of us could deal with it . . . it. A relationship?  
  
She gasps and stops. She swallows and breaths out a shaky breath before she reaches for her underwear, bending her body forward to slip her feet into the silky looking, dark blue bit before sliding them slowly up her legs, seeming like she's enjoying every single moment of it. When the fabric gets to the tops of her thighs she sighs a little, turns and faces me as I get to watch her disappear under silk. Dana touches the front right where her . . . right where . . .  
  
When she looks at me.  
  
With a deep breath she stops herself and reaches for the nightgown. Black and maybe satin, the pattern of disjointed swirls only seen when the light hits at a certain angle. She slips it on and lets it fall into place, hugging herself when she's finished. And then, after all of that, she looks at me again. Swathed in black satin to mid-thigh she's incredible and she looks like she's going to cry. One second is all it takes until she turns and rushes to the door, throwing it open and closing it almost quietly just before I hear her sob. 


	5. Trying

**  
  
It's morning. The sun is filling as much of the room as it can and I feel sore and achy. I hear sounds coming from the kitchen and it's clear Harry is up. I try to stretch my legs but they protest, along with my neck that has an incredibly painful crick and my head that is pounding. I slept curled up on one side of the couch last night. After I finished crying.  
  
I can't believe I did that last night, undressing in front of him, touching . . .  
  
Maybe my mother was right about me.  
  
I sit up with all of my pains and Harry is coming in with a cup.  
  
"Coffee," he says answering a question I didn't ask as he sets it down. "I took the mule early this morning and got the beans myself."  
  
He flashes me a quick smile; it tries to be a smile. He seems a little unsettled and . . .  
  
My eyes have to be as wide as saucers because I know. I know he knows he saw me, saw what I did.  
  
I think I'm going to be sick.  
  
"Oh my God." I jump up off of the couch and fly into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me without looking back. He knows, he knows, he knows. He probably thinks I'm some crazy pervert. I . . . I can't believe I was so stupid! What am I going to do, I can't stay, even if he wanted me to I couldn't stay. And even if he did it would probably be because he thought I was some slut. He already said he disagreed about the club and . . . I can't believe I was so stupid.  
  
**  
  
She knows. That's obvious. She looked at me a little weird when I put the coffee down before her eyes went wide. Fuck, I'm transparent. And now I can't leave, if I leave she'll probably take off and then what, she's ends up in someplace that she can't handle. I wanted her to leave but not like this, not now. When did this become so confusing - Strike that. It was always confusing. I fall onto the sofa and get a spring in my ass for it.  
  
Knock. Knock.  
  
"Would you like a newspaper?" I hear through the front door.  
  
"No thank you. Bye," I yell. I do not want to deal with pushy sales people right now.  
  
"But you get a free sample."  
  
"Leave it!"  
  
"Sir--"  
  
I get up yelling before I rip the door open, "I'm busy right now, don't you get that I - Lauren."  
  
Life's bitch.  
  
Life. Four. Work is long, Dana comes, Dana is sad, Lauren is here.  
  
Me. Zero . . . though maybe seeing Dana last night could count as something good even if it turned out like --  
  
"Harry?"  
  
I snap back and look at her.  
  
How do I get her to go away?  
  
**  
  
My other shoe, I need my other shoe. There! I finish pulling on it on and stand up. My body seems fine, which is good; I have to work tonight. A green tank top and khaki shorts, my 'fleeing' wear, it has to be, I can't stay here now but later . . . I can think of that later. My eyes are puffy and red and the make-up doesn't cover it completely, not that I care, I just want to stay in this room as long as I can because I can't face him yet.  
  
**  
  
"I thought I'd drop by, see how you were," she smiles as she walks in without an invitation. Then again we've had sex so she probably feels comfortable walking in. I know she wants everything to be good again, our on/off relationship should be sparking up about now but at what stage is the only part that isn't always clear. We're either on the edge of light flirting or already in bed, we've been on one real date so that shows just how black and while this relationship is, any gray and I think the would start spinning the other way.  
  
"Actually, Lauren, I was just on my way out." So please go.  
  
"You changed your hair again."  
  
"What?" 'Go' part not being felt.  
  
"It's a little different, kinda spiky."  
  
Oh. Flirting, I can tell by the 'I'm sweet' expression, it works on her, worked for me. Works for me in a tight, red tee shirt and blue jeans shorts.  
  
I'm a little hooked, I'll admit it, and I must show it to because she's looking slight embarrassed even though we both know she isn't. Just to let me know.  
  
"I know you have work and I know you don't like to be late but . . ."  
  
But . . . but nothing. What happens, we go into the bedroom and Dana gets to see - This isn't turning out well.  
  
"I really can't be late, I'm meeting a student before class. Kyle Greggor."  
  
"Oh." Disappointed and 'I'm intruding, sorry' look cued . . . Now.  
  
Perfect.  
  
"Maybe we can have dinner tonight then."  
  
"I don't know," I say. "I have a lot of work and . . ."  
  
"And wouldn't it be a nice break?"  
  
I hear a creak and I think the door is going to open, but Lauren didn't notice so maybe it's paranoia.  
  
Better safe than sorry.  
  
"Sure, that'd be great. Tonight, six-thirty?" I rush. She nods and I walk behind her, glancing at the bedroom door as I start to gather some papers.  
  
"Six-thirty then," she agrees with a sultry tone as she watches me. She isn't leaving.  
  
"I'd walk you to your car but . . ." I trail off looking at the papers I was trying to gather. She nods and I'm glad she finally got the hint.  
  
"Bye." She doesn't kiss me but she does wink as she walks out of the open door and I don't breathe until I hear the elevator ding.  
  
**  
  
Now or never, now or never, now or never.  
  
I swing the door open and head straight for the door, my bag on my shoulder. Maybe I can stay with some of the dancers at work, Casey, she'll help me. Most of them think I'm a bitch, but she knew I didn't talk much because I was nervous being there for the first month or so.  
  
"Dana, wait!"  
  
I'm going to cry I can feel the tears coming up but I have to hold back. I turn to face him and he steps up to me hesitantly. He has on a jersey for the Yankees and I'd tell him he was a terrible Sox fan if I weren't going to turn into a waterworks.  
  
"Can we talk for a minute?"  
  
I just shake my head. I'm humiliated enough to be standing in front of him, I don't need to know exactly what he saw.  
  
"Just for a minute, sit down."  
  
I shake my head stiffly before I try and talk.  
  
"I'd rather stand by the door."  
  
"Okay," he says before he looks at the floor and clears his throat. "I did see you last night."  
  
"Mr. Senate, I have to go," I say as the tears start now. I can't believe he has to be that honest. I turn for the door but he's behind me grabbing my arm.  
  
"Please wait."  
  
"Wait for what? I can't believe I did that I . . . Let me go!"  
  
"Dana, listen. We can forget."  
  
**  
  
She stops struggling and looks at me, "What?"  
  
"We can forget it even happened, you can still stay here and we can act like . . . like nothing happened."  
  
We can act like I didn't do what she did after the bedroom was empty.  
  
"How can we?" she whispers. "What I did was, it was--"  
  
"I don't care." I don't say it angry and it's better than 'I liked it' which is out of the question.  
  
She softens her face and she seems so vulnerable now and so soft and beautiful with her hair loose and tucked behind her ear.  
  
"We can forget."  
  
We can. She can forget what she did and I can forget what I did afterwards.  
  
"I can't," she says softly with teary eyes. I let go of her but she doesn't leave and I can kiss her now if I wanted to. And I want to but I won't let myself but . . . But I could forget other things. I could forget that she was my student and I was her teacher, I could forget she barged into my life when I didn't want to let her, I can forget that she called me Mr. Senate a couple minutes ago instead of Harry.  
  
"Dana, I. . ."  
  
And she's hugging me.  
  
**  
  
"Thank you so much, thank you." He can't know how this means to me, he can't. We can forget and move on and I'll never think of him the same way again, never again. We can be friends. Just friends forever.  
  
I pull away and scrub the tears off of my face, probably smearing my mascara and everything but I don't care.  
  
"Thank you, thank you," I tell him and I must be smiling like crazy. I take a deep breath and look around. "Okay. I'm going to put my stuff back and then, then we can have a big breakfast. I bought eggs yesterday and I'm going to make you a huge omelet!"  
  
**  
  
I don't know what I'm supposed to say but she doesn't seem to notice because she smiling and happy and going into the bedroom.  
  
"You better be hungry!" she smiles.  
  
. . . I almost kissed Dana. If she hadn't hugged me I might have kissed her. More confusing than before.  
  
"I, um, I have to pass, I'm going to be late."  
  
She comes out with a hurt expression. "Really? Well, okay. Tomorrow, tomorrow I will make you the most amazing breakfast, you'll love it."  
  
"Tomorrow," I agree as I gather my things. "I'll see you around 2:00."  
  
**  
  
Harry closes the door with a quick wave and I look around feeling immensely better. I want to do something special, something for Harry, Harry who has giving me an amazing gift that I could never repay. He forgot and he's letting me stay.  
  
Thank you, Harry. 


	6. Calling In, Going Out

**  
  
I'm glad she's happy but now I don't what way is up. I need to talk to someone. Now. But I have class and -  
  
"Mr. Senate, I'm finished with my Social Studies work but can you help me chose between two idea's for a paper?" Thomas Jand asks, thrusting a note card under my dazed face.  
  
I regard the note before looking up again, "Write about Teddy Roosevelt, Lipshitz is grading these and, though I'd enjoy it, I don't think he want's to read about the life story of Playboy's Miss April."  
  
"How did you know she was Miss April?"  
  
"I guessed."  
  
He laughs before going back to his seat and starting the pre-paper work sheets.  
  
If I was in another situation with to do with a woman I might just dismiss it by staying I should have stuck to magazines but this isn't that kind of situation. I could have used that excuse with Lauren. But not with Dana because it isn't like that, even now it isn't like that. Something is different, even how I feel and now I don't know.  
  
I need to talk to someone.  
  
**  
  
"Diva Divine, this is Ginger speaking."  
  
"Hey, Casey." She was the one that told me I needed a stage name, hers was 'Ginger' and she helped me decided on mine. Brigitte, it's about as inconspicuous a stripper name as any, there must be a million 'Brigittes' out there.  
  
"Dana! Where have you been, I haven't heard from you in two days! You had me worried."  
  
"I'm sorry, I just . . . there was a problem but it's okay now. I'm okay."  
  
"Are you coming into work tonight?"  
  
"Yeah, just making sure I'm still working."  
  
"Night shift again? I thought you like the day work better, why'd you switch?"  
  
"I need the cash and the cash is better at night. Am I on?"  
  
"You're on the board for 8:00, I tried to call your cell to let you know but you were disconnected. God, Dana, you scared the hell out of me."  
  
"I'm sorry, Case, I'll explain later but don't worry because I'm okay now." Maybe I should have kept my phone on, but it was a sacrifice for school money. I don't talk to nearly as many people as I used to anyway; all that 'We'll be the best friends even after high school' is crap.  
  
"You better be or I'll kick your butt now for not calling me if you were."  
  
Casey. The only one who would. But I'd never tell her I needed help because even if she knew I was nervous when I started working there she would never know I was weak.  
  
"Bye, Case."  
  
"See ya, girl."  
  
**  
  
"Marilyn, can I talk to you?"  
  
"I really can't, Harry, I have to make thirty copies and the machine broke down so I have to go to Copio's," she sighs. It has been breaking down more and more but I wish she'd forget about that for now or else I'm dead.  
  
"Please. Big problems."  
  
She stopped. "Harry are you okay?"  
  
I look from side to side for a reason I don't know before I answer, "I'd like to say yes to that question."  
  
"Alright, we're talking." She grabs my arm and pulls me into the copy room, folding her arms and looking at me.  
  
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this but Kevin went to Florida and Milton would never forget it and--"  
  
"Okay, I get I'm not first choice, now speak."  
  
" . . . Forget it."  
  
"What? Harry, wait!"  
  
"No, I'm okay, forget it."  
  
This was a big mistake, I don't need to talk about it, and I don't need to have my business thrown all over anyway.  
  
"Harry!" Marilyn calls but I'm already out the door and down the hallway.  
  
"I was wrong, I don't have a problem, thanks!"  
  
I hear her sigh loudly but I don't look back as I turn the corner.  
  
**  
  
I'm going to have to go back to my mothers soon. I took some clothes but not all of them and some jewelry and my diary . . . my jewelry might be pawned now and . . . I hope she hasn't read my diary.  
  
I'm not thinking of that now, now I'm thinking of . . . talk shows. Two women are arguing over the same man who is sitting back and insisting he'll have them both 'when we get home'. This could be a repeat but I know it isn't, it's just that there are always two girls and a guy insisting he'll have them both 'when we get home'. Every talk show is the same, I bet there are people in China having the same talk show fights.  
  
I wonder if Harry will watch TV with me next time, last night he graded papers but . . . We can watch TV like friends.  
  
**  
  
"Hey, Handsome."  
  
Lauren.  
  
She leans against the doorframe casually.  
  
That's it.  
  
If someone asked me if this was a good idea I'd say no but no one is asking me, especially not myself. But it seems so clear now, to wipe away the confusion about Dana is to wipe it away with something else. With Lauren.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
"Just finishing up."  
  
I can hear her sandals as they get closer to my desk.  
  
"I was wondering something," she tells me.  
  
"And that would be?" Flirt, I can flirt.  
  
"If you missed me."  
  
I haven't really thought about that.  
  
"Yes."  
  
She smiles. "Good."  
  
Her arm snakes around my neck and she kisses me before pulling away.  
  
"Let's go to your place." That was my voice and I said it and . . . I mean it.  
  
"Okay."  
  
I mean it.  
  
**  
  
Harry's going to be coming home soon. I know I'll greet him with a smile because I want to, he gave me another chance, but I also know I can't completely forget what I did and I don't know if he can either.  
  
Something nice. Nice . . . Pain in the ass. Yep, the spring. I'll fix the spring. For both of us in case I have to sleep on it tonight . . .  
  
**  
  
"Kiss me!"  
  
I give her what she wants, slipping my tongue to play with hers as she tries to pull my jersey over my head instead of unbuttoning it. She's leading me to her bed but I already know where it is and I pick her up for the rest of the way. We fall on the bed and I know my weight crushes her as we hit the mattress and she let's me know, breaking away and pushing me.  
  
"Harry!"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
She makes a noise of annoyance and I just roll over as she sits up.  
  
"Need practice?"  
  
"You're lucky if I don't fall asleep, I've slept less than eight hours for the past four days!" I yell.  
  
"Hold on, Harry, let me give you a trophy. Am I supposed to feel guilty for getting suspended?"  
  
"Why not? Add it to your list of emotions, what are you up to now? Four?"  
  
She looks offended and crosses her arms over her chest as she looks at me. "I want you to go."  
  
"You and me both."  
  
I sat up, springing off the bed and heading to the door, wondering how I was going to get back to the school to get my car.  
  
**  
  
"Hey."  
  
"I'm going to take a nap."  
  
"Not a good day at work?" I ask hoping it was that and not my presence here.  
  
"Bad day."  
  
"Okay, um, I'll see you when you get up."  
  
He nods and goes into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.  
  
I hope he doesn't sit on the couch.  
  
** 


	7. A Bad Turn

It's dark out and the apartment is quiet. I blink and look at the clock. 10:16. I yawn and pull myself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom. I needed that; a long gloriously unconscious couple of hours . . . lot of hours.  
  
After bathroom business comes hungry business. Dana business too since I have to see her face to face . . . that fact wakes me up pretty quickly. I don't know how I'm supposed to . be around her. I didn't face her today when I came home and I think if I did it would have put me in at the end of the line, more confused than I'm capable. And I'm not far from it anyway.  
  
I make my way through a darkened room and then open the door to find . . . No Dana.  
  
With a sloppy hand I find the lamp and click it on to flood the room with yellow light as the already whirling fan blows a gentle and ineffective wind. On the wooden table a white piece of paper flutters wildly under the little stone fertility statue I got a years back. The nearly-broad face of the orpiment stares back at me, reminding me what an asshole my college roommate was when he bought it for me after a pregnancy scare with my junior year girlfriend.  
  
I reach over a snap up the paper to find Dana's small, loopy writing.  
  
Harry. Had to go to work, be back after 3:00. There is leftover lasagna in the refrigerator and don't sit on the couch - I'll explain later. Dana.  
  
She used put hearts all over her work and assignments but now it's just her neat script.  
  
Why can't I sit on the couch?  
  
Knock. Knock.  
  
I drop the note on the table and go to the door, wiping my hand over my droopy eyes as I go. The door isn't locked and I should probably talk to Dana about that, like I need to get robbed on top of everything else.  
  
"Lauren."  
  
She's standing there with a self-doubt expression that asks 'Am I wrong to be here?'. I'm thinking . . . Yes.  
  
"Hi, Harry. Can I come in?"  
  
I nod and move to the side, I don't want to talk to her but I want to hear that I was right. Prideful bastard that I am.  
  
"Look, I know I shouldn't have come but," she looks down, searching her words before her eyes go back to me. "I was wrong, I should have been more understanding. You just offered to take up general tutoring this summer and you didn't need to be saddled with my program too."  
  
I nod again. She sees I'm not going to talk so she starts again.  
  
"And, today, I don't know, I just needed confirmation. I wanted to know I was needed, after getting suspended and the whole thing with Daniel . . ." she trails off for my benefit but I don't need it. "I just needed something that I knew and was . . . Something that was familiar."  
  
She stares straight at me with that and I know what she meant. She wanted me to pick up the pieces because that's what I do for her and it's what she does for everyone else.  
  
"Please, Harry."  
  
Shy eyes but determined. Her walk is slow as she approaches and she comes up, placing only one hand on my crossed arm. And I loosen my grip. And it's acceptance. She leans up and kisses me too slowly for what we both want.  
  
**  
  
"Brigitte, you're up in five!" Grainy yells. He's a boisterous and slimy, but just on the outside. Balding, nearly fifty and 5'3, he seems like a man who would screw you over for your last quarter and then push you down just to finish the job but it isn't really him, sure he's a jerk but he wouldn't cheat you out of a thing.  
  
"Good tips tonight, good tips!" Casey smiles, waving various bills back and forth in front of my eyes. She's working a double tonight and I'm glad just so I can be around someone who makes me smile and has nothing to do with what's happening with where I live.  
  
"I hope the tips are good because I really need the cash," I reply, dragging the full brush over my cheekbones while I stare into the mirror in the busy dressing room.  
  
"Don't we all?"  
  
"Brigitte! Go!" Grainy shouts.  
  
**  
  
"I really missed this," she whispers as her hands slide over my chest. My shirt is somewhere near the doorway and now she's found the button on my jeans. I don't say anything to her because she and I both know I don't want too. This isn't about her for me and it isn't about me for her. This is because she needs something that she knows and I just need . . . something.  
  
I grab handfuls of her tight shirt and pull it upwards, she doesn't put her arms up right away, and I know I stretched the fabric but I don't care. Even if I know she does and is probably wondering how to repair the fabric and maybe clean the sink in a better way too. Finally it's gone and the simple white cotton bra is soon on the floor and my hands are filled with her breasts and her head is thrown back as I kiss her throat. But why does this feel so rehearsed?  
  
**  
  
The club is filled for a Friday night and half of my costume has found it's way off much to the pleasure of the gathering of yelling men. It used to be a cave-girl outfit with a fake fur top and skirt, then a bikini with tiger spots and . . . the boots. These boots are terrible, reaching my knee and covered in the most hideous, itchy white faux fur ever made.  
  
I jut my hip out to one side for a thin man with brown hair and hesitant fingers that show a five-dollar bill. He slips it into the band of my bottoms before grinning widely like he conquered the world before he shouts.  
  
"Take off the top!"  
  
He better have five more minutes and twenty more bucks.  
  
**  
  
"Ugh!"  
  
Her blonde hair is spread out on my pillow and her face is in a grimace as I touch her, slipping my fingers inside teasingly before leaving her again.  
  
If I pause for a moment and look at her . . . I can almost see someone else in her place.  
  
"M-ore," she demands as with tightly closed eyes. I blink away who could be here because she isn't and I don't want her to be . . . Yeah.  
  
**  
  
I breath a sigh of relief as I step back stage, an arm over my chest, two fists full of money and a bikini top thrown over my arm. I dragged my number out as long as I could and it paid off.  
  
Dumping what I held on the long vanity I pulled the rest from my boots and bottoms, trying to sort it out with visions of textbooks dancing in my head. I'm up two more times tonight and if this is any indication it's going to be pretty good.  
  
**  
  
"Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh."  
  
Lauren grunts. Always. She never moans or sighs or says anything, she grunts. She did say my name once but it was long and drawn and it sounded like I was killing her. She's a cheap porno soundtrack all by herself.  
  
But who cares.  
  
I just grip her shoulders tighter as my arms curl under her back and I bury my face in her neck because I'm starting to think of who could be here - even if this wasn't about her anymore than it was about the grunting woman below me. Maybe it was.  
  
Maybe I didn't know it.  
  
"Ugh, ugh, ugh."  
  
I thrust into her faster and harder and I know she likes it like that. She proves it to my by clawing my neck and I can feel the skin breaking under her French manicured nails as she grips me through the precautionary latex that covers me.  
  
And now I know this isn't about me because if it was I wouldn't care that it doesn't feel like what I wanted. It doesn't feel like her, or what I think she could feel like. It's about her. And I don't mean the grunting blonde below me.  
  
**  
  
"Little guy, back corner," Grainy tells me.  
  
I turn to see the skinny, shy guy from earlier that requested my top. He wiggles his fingers in a greeting and I scrunch my nose up before I can stop it, he makes me uncomfortable, and I know what Grainy meant. Private dance.  
  
"No, I don't think so," I say as I turn back to the bar. I stare at my cola and circle my straw around in the dark liquid. I don't do private dances, even when I'm this hard up for money. I tried, once, when I first started here. I was grabbed and made me not want to do it again.  
  
"Come on, Brigitte, when are you going to learn the real money is one on one?"  
  
I turn to him with a wicked look and bite out, "When are you going to learn I don't do private shows? Back off, Grainy."  
  
"Fine, fine. But, remember, while the other girls making all that good money you could be the one to swoop in there and take it all."  
  
He leaves and I shake my head, cash or not, it isn't worth it.  
  
I drop my straw back into the cola and look across the bar, a man has his back turned to me and, although I know it isn't Harry, he has the same hair color and it reminds me of him. When I left he was still sleeping, at least I think he was, I couldn't look in. Not after last night.  
  
But he needs that, he was beat and he needed a couple of quiet hours to drift off. Except now he's probably trying to do some work that he forgot. Harry Senate may be a few things but a slacker on his work he is not.  
  
I catch my reflection in the angled mirror over the bar and I can see that I'm smiling. I haven't done that in a long time, not for any real reason. It feels good to smile.  
  
**  
  
"I'm going to get something to drink," Lauren tells me with a sedated and bemused voice. She pulls herself away and heads for the kitchen, stopping to pick up my jersey and slip it over her head on the way. I watch her go and . . . this tryst didn't help me much.  
  
Now I'd like her to go but she hasn't left yet, obviously. After we were finished I rolled off of her and just lay there, making no move to touch her again. Tried to be the typical male pig. But she curled up next to me anyway and cuddled right up.  
  
The strange thing is it didn't bother me as much as her wearing my clothes. It's like a sign of claim and I don't want her thinking she's mine - despite what just happened. Anything that happened, because she never was she and mine never will be. I don't feel that for her, I never felt anything that passionate for her, strong enough to want her to be MINE and not just my girlfriend. Just someone I have respect for and then have sex with.  
  
"Want some?" Lauren asks from the doorway, tipping the glass forward a little to offer me water.  
  
"No, I should get to sleep, I have work tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow's Saturday," she tells me and it's clear she knows I'm lying.  
  
But I don't miss a beat. "I know, I have to tutor someone."  
  
I just spit that one out but I actually do have to go tomorrow, a small tour for some of the freshmen that will be coming in. I guess they'd like to keep freshmen-stuffed-in-garbage-cans/lockers to a minimum by giving them the extra advantage of not asking for directions.  
  
She nods stiffly and sets the glass down with a clunk before she comes in and rips her clothes off of the floor and heads to the bathroom. She's pissed and I don't care. Lauren used me just as much as I used her, we didn't do this to be with each other and have one of those sweet intimate moments. We did this because we each needed something and we got it, no matter how unfulfilling it feels in the end.  
  
It was a mutual demand.  
  
Human need.  
  
But as the door bangs open as she stalks in I think that maybe I used her a little more.  
  
She sits next to me on the bed and doesn't look at me even when I lift my head from the pillow while she roughly puts her sandals on. Slowly, very slowly, I place a hand on her back and she sighs, stopping before looking at me. I lean over and kiss her gently, I pull back to a slight smile, and I know she's appeased for now.  
  
"I, I should go. I have a million things to do tomorrow and I don't want to drive back to my place in the morning and it's already half past one."  
  
I nod because I didn't want her to stay anyway, didn't want Dana to see.  
  
She kisses me again and stands, waving as she leaves. When I hear the front door close my eyes follow suit. I'm tired and grateful that I'm comfortable in my post coitus state but it doesn't feel as good going to sleep without the fake 'peachy' smells that have faded from the room since she slept here last.  
  
**  
  
"Good morning, girl. I'm going home," Casey yells as she leaves. It is morning, nearly 3:00 and I'm getting ready to go home too. Home to Harry. Harry my friend and not my romantic interest in the least.  
  
The glitter on my arms from my last dance refuses to come off and it's the same way with the sparkling over my chest and cheeks but I just sigh and take off the g-string that's left from my violet mini skirt and tube-top costume. Not the easiest thing to bend over with when you don't wear a bra and customers grumble when you hold your breasts from falling.  
  
But it was worth it; I haven't even counted it yet, but the thick wad of assorted bills won't even fit into the rubber bands on the dressing table. When the bands snap it is a GOOD sign.  
  
I finish dressing and stuff the rest of my things into my backpack and leave the empty dressing room, with only an hour and a half left until they close there aren't as many dancers who stick around. The club is now filled with absurdly drunken patrons who usually have spent every cent on drinks or a dancer earlier in the night; there isn't much money to be made.  
  
The back door automatically locks as it slams shut and I head up the small back alley behind 'Diva Divine', it's better this way then out the front with a group of guys who aren't too drunk to see that you are one of the dancers following behind.  
  
"Now keep your mouth shut, you fucking bitch, or I'll slice you from ear to ear."  
  
It was so quick I couldn't even think . . . There is a knife pressed to my throat and I can feel the tip already pushing into my skin. God, what's he going to do?  
  
"Give me the money."  
  
"I-I can't--" I try to say before he hits me with his right fist and I fall to the dirty asphalt.  
  
He's ripping the bag from my arm and tearing it open. Make-up and the rest of my things fall beside me as I hold my throbbing jaw. That fucker, how could he do that to me?  
  
When my curling iron falls next to my face I can see the metal glinting in the poor light and before I can think about it I grab it and sit up. I plunge it forward and I want to hit him in the nuts with it but the hit jarred my perception and I miss but he 'oomph's' anyway when I stab the blunt end in his gut.  
  
"Fucking whore," he gasps. I don't feel the second punch until I'm already back on the ground from the impact. He's wheezing as he riffles through my bag again before pulling out the wad of bills. There's so much there, less than what I could make elsewhere but I never did need a well-known club when anyone who walks in could know Dana Poole was on the stage.  
  
"No!" I scream. That's my money, I need that money for college! I jump for his legs and he tries to kick me off before I feel something warm on my left shoulder. I let go from shock and I can tell he stabbed me.  
  
"Whore!" he shouts as I let go and fall back. He seems nervous, like he didn't really mean to do it. "You should have let go! You should have just let go!"  
  
He turns and runs away and I realize that I didn't even notice what he looked like, with all that happened I didn't look.  
  
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. I just need to calm down and I'll be okay. I sit up slowly and reach to touch my back, the green, short-sleeved shirt I have on is sliced like my skin, but now I know he didn't stab me. A long cut travels from my shoulder to almost the middle of my back, I think. It's a slightly slanted line, and it's bleeding. Badly. I grab for the green tank top I changed out of earlier and hold it to the red mess. I touch my face and one side is already swelling.  
  
Slowly, with one arm holding the makeshift rag, the injured side of me gathers up my things and tries to put everything in my bag. It takes a few minutes but it gets done. I can't zip it so I just hold it, struggling to my feet. I need to get home. 


	8. Healing Twice Over

**  
  
I hear someone struggling through my living room and I choose now to remember I didn't lock up after Lauren left. My movements are slow and deliberate as I reach beside me grab the baseball bat I keep there. Drawing the sheet off on me I ease out of bed and creep to the door, cracking it just a bit before easing it open. It's dark but I can tell it's Dana and I sigh with relief, she seems like her shoulder is slumped and she's dragging her book bag as she comes in.  
  
Back from the club. The thought rest in the pit of my stomach as I head back to bed. I lean the bat against the nightstand and climb in bed. The club. She doesn't need to work there; she's too young, too . . .  
  
A choked sob comes from the living room and I wonder if she's thinking about last night again. I couldn't talk to her last night but I will now. I climb back out of be and trip into a pair of pajama bottoms before I go and open the door.  
  
And the light is on.  
  
Oh, Dana.  
  
**  
  
I snap my eyes up to the doorway and Harry is standing there with an expression of complete shock. I just look back down and keep holding my tattered, green shirt to my bare chest as my right hand holds the tank top.  
  
"What happened?" he asks as he rushes in and kneels in front of me as I sit on the coffee table.  
  
"I got robbed and he had a knife," I answer simply, dropping the tank to wipe under my nose where I realized the second blow hit, giving me a bloody nose. The looks I got on the way here were not too bad considering I tried to stay out of the streetlights at every opportunity.  
  
"Your shoulder," he says in a deep voce that's protective and concerned and makes me feel better.  
  
I look to where his eyes are trained; you can see it perfectly now since I took off my top, trying to access the damage myself. I hold the ruined fabric to my breasts as I become acutely aware of how little I have on.  
  
"Dana . . ."  
  
"I got robbed," I repeat before looking into his eyes with a bit of humor. "And I didn't like it."  
  
"You fought back?"  
  
"I had to."  
  
"No, you didn't have to, who cares about the money, Dana, you could have been killed."  
  
He doesn't sound mad at me really, he's mad that it happened and I don't blame him, I'm upset too. He's grabbing the tank top from my lap he holds it to the cut and cups my face.  
  
"We have to call to the police."  
  
That is not going to happen.  
  
"That is not going to happen."  
  
"What? You were hurt, you have to call the police."  
  
"Harry," I say softly and it makes him pause and stare me in the eye. "We can't . . . it happened outside of the club and . . . and I'm underage, I don't turn eighteen for a couple days."  
  
"It doesn't matter--"  
  
"Yes it does. I don't want anyone to know. Please!" I can feel the tears running down my face and it's the first time, I didn't even cry when my shoulder started to burn on the way home.  
  
He breathes deep and wipes away my tears with his thumb, "At least go to the hospital."  
  
I sniffle a little and shake my head; "I'm okay."  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"I'm okay."  
  
**  
  
She's okay, yeah; the bloody nose, swollen cheek, and bleeding shoulder must have fooled me. She must have known from my expression that I wasn't about to agree.  
  
"Let me take a shower and if it's that bad then I'll go, okay?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"I want to get cleaned up anyway."  
  
She's giving me that doe-eyed look that's pleading and I nod my head. Okay but when you come out I want to see the damage and *I* decide if we have to go and none of your 'Oh, it's fine, don't worry,' got it?"  
  
She nods and starts to stand, wincing a bit before I grab her waist, feeling the soft skin of the only non-bruised spot from what I can see, her legs are covered with scrapes. I let her ahead of me and hold her waist from the back, keeping her close and getting a view of the brownish, dry blood that covers her left back. I guide her all the way to the bathroom door before I let go.  
  
"There are some towels in there so . . ."  
  
"Thanks," she says quietly before softly closing the door in my face.  
  
**  
  
It hurts when the water hits my shoulder, but it's better than going to a hospital and having all the doctors poking at me. If I angle myself just a little it won't hit directly and . . . Ah. That's it. It still stings but it isn't as bad as when the sweat was touching while I tried to get here.  
  
I think I'll be okay, I didn't look in the mirror when I came in because I didn't want to see how bad it was but I think it'll by okay when I get out.  
  
**  
  
My head has been in my hands for the past ten minutes she's been in there and I still don't know what to do. I was here, fucking Lauren while she was getting attacked and, even though I know all the bullshit about how I couldn't have known, it doesn't make me feel like any less of a prick. And the bed. I want her to sleep on the bed tonight, and every night she wants but not with the remnants of Lauren and I on the sheets.  
  
I get up and try to find something else but after pulling through the drawers I only find one sheet. It's something. I strip off the bed and lay it down, fresh and blue. In the living room is her pillow and I bring it back to lay it on the bed . . . her pillow. I can't think when it became hers when there are more stressing issues involving her. Involving Dana and being hurt . . . I feel . . . I feel like I can't lose --  
  
"Harry?"  
  
I turn and she's standing there, I hadn't even heard the door open. Her right cheek is swollen and slightly purple but she's still Dana, Dana with the beautiful eyes and beautiful lips. Dana with the broken expression a few days ago, Dana with the lightened smile when I said she could stay, Dana with the bright red left shoulder and calm demeanor that's somehow making me more at ease when I'm supposed to be helping her.  
  
"Come here."  
  
She obliges maybe because she sees how desperate I am. Walking forward slowly she tightens her hold on the towel and I look to that spot, feeling sick with myself because even though I said we could forget I still remember her body and the way she moved when she looked at me.  
  
Her wet hair is gathered to spill over the right side of her neck I brush my fingers the other side of the pale column just to make sure no strands would be in my view of her cut. That's when she sucked in her breath.  
  
**  
  
His fingers hesitate and he looks at me before going back to the cut. He steps to my side and he's towering over me, inspecting the cut while his warm breath falls on me. I'm breathing heavier as the seconds pass and I hope he thinks it's because of the pain or . . . something. Because we have to be friends now, strictly friends. We said we would forget.  
  
He traces a path next to the line and I'm already relived to know it isn't that bad. After some trying angles in the bathroom mirror I could see that it wasn't as severe, already sealing up and not nearly as deep as I thought. I think the bastard got scared and just blindly struck out, I think that makes me lucky.  
  
"How's it look?" I ask even if I know. "I put some of that antibacterial stuff on it. That stuff in the tube."  
  
"Pretty good."  
  
"Good," I whisper. I can tell he's watching me, just staring down so intense that I'm starting to feel a flush of feeling through my body even though my shoulder hurts and my cheek is throbbing. If I turned to him I could kiss him but I'm not going to because I said we would just be friends and I won't go back on that, I won't go back on what I said to him.  
  
"Do you feel okay?" he asks in a voice that makes me wish he would act on the tone there, but I know he won't and it's for the best.  
  
"Just sleepy."  
  
Out of the corner of my eye he nods and backs away and I breathe out a breath I seemed to be holding even if I didn't know it.  
  
"You can sleep in here tonight - or however long you need to."  
  
He backs away and goes to escape from the tension filling the room.  
  
"Thank you . . . Harry."  
  
**  
  
Harry . . . Harry . . . what is wrong with me? I was so close to her, so worried and I wanted to hug her but I didn't . . .  
  
I didn't want her to push me away.  
  
I look at the corner of the couch and see the neatly folded sheet. First I go to the kitchen, grabbing the frozen peas that I don't remember buying and then picking up the sheet for Dana, taking it to the door and knocking lightly. She opens it just a little.  
  
"A sheet to, um, to sleep, and for your face."  
  
Her full lips turn up a little and she takes them, drawing both to her. "Thank you."  
  
** 


	9. Back to the Hallowed Hallways

Morning is here and I feel fantastic - for fifteen seconds - until I stretch. Then I want to scream because the slice on my shoulder pulls it isn't a nice way to wake up. I feel like I'm going hyperventilate because I'm trying to gulp down air so I don't burst out crying and I'm trying to hold my shoulder without really touching the problem and slowly it starts to dull until I can finally sit up.  
  
And then the smell of bacon hits me and my stomach growls reminding me it's been a while since I ate.  
  
Knock. Knock.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"Come in," I answer with a half way throaty whisper.  
  
I hear a shifting or something before the door opens and Harry comes in with a big smile and a plate. My stomach growls and I can see his smile grow wider. I sit up straighter and lean against the wall carefully while he proudly brings over the food and sets it on my sheet-covered lap. When I look down I see sausage, toast, and eggs - along with an ample amount of cleavage. I tug up the front of my silky, multicolored shift, maybe I shouldn't have taken such reveling night clothes but they're small once you roll them up and that makes it easy to fit in a packed bag.  
  
"Eat, try it," he tells me as he sits down.  
  
"I thought I was suppose to make you eggs," I tease.  
  
"And miss the opportunity to wait on you hand and foot? Never." He stares pointedly at the fork I've picked up and I appease him by taking some eggs and lifting it to my lips. They're a little salty but the sheer anticipation on his face waiting for me; he made them for me.  
  
"Delicious."  
  
He acts like it's the best compliment he's ever gotten as he gets off the bed. "I forgot the coffee."  
  
He's already half way gone when I look up and I can't say how incredible I feel. He comes right back with cup in hand and sets it on the nightstand before looking at me with curious eyes.  
  
"What?" I ask suspiciously.  
  
"Dana. How would you feel if . . . how would you feel if I asked you to come to work with me today?"  
  
"You're joking, right?"  
  
"No, you could hang out in the lounge or something."  
  
"Harry, I'm not a child." Although it's nice to see him this worried.  
  
"I know that, believe me, I know that."  
  
Hmm, I think I'll let that slip go. "But?"  
  
"But . . . Just for today?"  
  
"I'm not going to school with you, Harry."  
  
"Just for a couple hours, it's not even a class, it's a tour."  
  
"Nu-uh."  
  
"It starts at eleven and we'll be out of there by twelve-thirty."  
  
"Still no."  
  
"Dana," he says in a cross between a plead and a 'be sensible'.  
  
"I have something else to do," I say quietly as I look down and push my food around.  
  
"Like."  
  
" . . . I have to go to my mother's today. I'm running out of clothes and I have to get the rest of my stuff."  
  
"Then I'll go with you after the tour."  
  
**  
  
She looks at me kind of wary then, as if questioning if I was willing to do it. Course I was. I don't know why, exactly, but I was still willing. Anything to get her to come with me, pacing for the rest of the night and walking around the apartment sealed that idea.  
  
"You don't have to, Harry."  
  
Sounds so sweet and compliant, two things Dana Poole keeps hidden very, very, *very* deeply.  
  
"What did I say about waiting on you hand an foot? It's my duty, it's every sort-of-roommate/ex-teachers duty - when sort-of roommate/ex-student gets robbed you have to wait on her. Now I just try and go with the rules myself. Don't like to make waves, you know."  
  
She laughs a little before looking at me and nodding a bit. "Okay."  
  
"Okay to the tour too? Its part of the duty pertaining to you - don't want to break our non verbal, make-it-up-as-we-go-along contract do you?"  
  
"Me? Why I would never break anything even resembling a rule," she says faking innocence.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
**  
  
After Harry leaves to let me get dressed I go over what I have left. A shirt, one of my comfy ones with the starburst in the middle, and a pair of jeans. No underclothes whatsoever, but I can deal until I go to my mother's . . . Hmm, that thought makes me queasy. I don't want to face her and if I'm lucky she won't be home, I'm sure she'll be able to track down a happy hour.  
  
I pull the jeans on and am profoundly glad the weather has gotten better and it's no longer sweltering - well, more then usual.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"Back off, dressing time is a very personal opportunity to reflect on those that annoy you. And you know what they say, speak of the devil . . ." I wonder if he can hear the smile in my voice. The shirt I have isn't going to work since raising my shoulder is making me want to scream so I take one of Harry's button down shirts and shrug it on easily. Big, and comfy.  
  
"Oh, then you must have been thinking of the person you adore, it's the only explanation for me bothering you."  
  
By now I'm finishing my make-up and thankful the bruise on my face isn't nearly as bad as I thought. It's a little swollen but not the multi-colored horror I was expecting, the ice-cold peas helped a lot, it's still red though and maybe I can pass it off as sunburn. Except that purple part . . . I'll wear my hair down, with a little more cover-up.  
  
I pull open the door and he's still standing there, a slight smile on his face.  
  
"Come on, we can't be late for school." I wink and walk past him, picking my keys out of my beaten book bag. "Like the ensemble?"  
  
He smiles a little and nods before answering. "I like it. A lot."  
  
**  
  
The ride to school is not quiet but a disagreement over the radio ensures that. Dana fiddles over the buttons without a regard to my faces of distaste - and when she does regard me she laughs anyway.  
  
We have ten minutes before the tour starts when we get to the school and she gets out of the car to just stand and stare at Winslow. She seems a little hesitant and her expression is apprehensive but I go around the car to grab her hand and urge her on. She smiles a little and follows. I'm glad she's here, I won't worry if she's here. I just have to see if I have enough balls to admit she's here with me.  
  
**  
  
As soon as we walk in he drops my hand. I don't like it but what should I expect, he is *just* my friend. The school is still school and it tugs at me a bit to remember the good times and it seems like most of the crappy stuff that happened dissipates and it all turns into the 'good ole' days', ah denial and just the right mix of selective memory.  
  
Nice.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
I see Miss Sudor coming toward us, leaving the group of those I guess is Harry's tour, and I push the large, dark glasses I wear to make sure they are positioned right. She looks decidedly curious and she stops short when she sees me, especially me with the dark-haired, gorgeous teacher I *formally* had a crush on. Formally. The teacher who's looking back at me a little comforting and a lot more nervous.  
  
"Dana, it's good to see you again," Miss Sudor says politely while she shoots a look at my 'roommate'. It's probably the shirt that's making her wonder, it shouldn't though, it's a plain white dress shirt, it could be from anywhere.  
  
"We--"  
  
"Saw each other outside."  
  
He looks at me with a question but I don't mind that he wants to keep our arrangement private. It was a lot of slush he had to push through last year - he wasn't the only one - and it's better if it wasn't tossed back up for nothing. We are just *friends*.  
  
"Really?" she asks, concern . . . no, just curiosity again.  
  
"Yeah, I was just . remembering . the high school days before I go on to college and I saw Mr. Senate here on the way in so we talked some." It's weird how that name still slips so easily over my tongue. Mr. Senate. Most times it comes more easily than 'Harry' does. I wonder if he knows, but how could he? Why should he?  
  
"Well, I'm sure Harry recalls a couple of those days himself," she teases just slightly with that still-balanced, always balanced, voice. And even I smile at that one. Harry, though, doesn't seem as amused.  
  
"Funny. But I refrain from any comebacks because I need some help."  
  
**  
  
"Help?" she asks, I can see her eyes dart to Dana who is still beside me and behind those eyes I know she's remembering how I ran out on our discussion yesterday. If she gives me the benefit of the doubt she won't figure it out, especially if Lauren called her for their 'girl talk' type thing this morning . . . if they really do that and it's not just a segment on 'Sex and the City' . . . not that I watched that . . .. more than once.  
  
"I need you to cover my classes for Monday."  
  
"Any particular reason?"  
  
"My lucrative singing career is taking off and I'm wanted for a Wayne Newton impersonator Vegas show."  
  
"In other words, none of my business?" She sighs and shifts the books she's holding to the other arm. "Fine, even though I'm only supposed to have *one* class that day. Just, put ten on Red 20 for me."  
  
She nods a good-bye to Dana who does the same before she heads for the office. The beautiful but questioning face at my side just gets my smile as I head for the group of people. She doesn't follow so I stop and turn.  
  
"Come on, you can be my little helper."  
  
"Teacher's pet?" she asks with a coy tone that really isn't helping me concentrate on my guide duties. I manage a nod and she smiles a great smile and walks past me to the group.  
  
**  
  
"Do they have an introspective History class here?" a mother voices.  
  
"They have a very . descriptive and . . . interesting . History course here." I can see Dana holding back a laugh at my thoughts on Lipshitz teaching. "Now we can go see where I teach. Down to the Dungeon."  
  
They clatter down behind me and I stop in front of the door of the sacred Pit o' Fun.  
  
"During the school year this is my classroom, a sort of haven for those rejected by the regular classes. I don't think I'll see any of you, least I hope not, I already have my hands full." Before I can stop myself I've looked at Dana and what seemed like an innocent comment has come off as a leering, dirty comment. Maybe not to everyone else but definitely to me.  
  
**  
  
Now I REALLY have to try and not laugh, that little look with his comment . . . He is too hilarious for his own good. What makes it even funnier is that no one else in the group is the wiser, well, maybe a few of the mothers who are now giving appraising looks, but I am not going to worry about that now.  
  
"So," he breaks loudly. "Let's head back upstairs."  
  
He rubs his hands together and is already to the steps before I can glance at the classroom that had a lot of memories in it. Maybe that's why he suddenly decided not to show it . . . No, what am I saying? We're friends. We'll be good friends.  
  
**  
  
"Easy, all that reluctance for a big bunch of nothing."  
  
Dana looks at me and bestows a smile before opening the car door. "I don't complain, Harry, I merely point out certain things - Like when someone is worrying needlessly."  
  
She gets in the car and I still look across the roof. It wasn't needlessly. She could have been killed.  
  
"Come on," she tells me as I feel a tug on the bottom of my tee shirt. I follow and am behind the wheel, starting the car and pausing before pulling out on autopilot. I must be too quiet because she asks me what's wrong.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You suck at lying."  
  
"Only sometimes," I answer absently.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"You could have been killed, I don't get how you can just dismiss that."  
  
She gives a ragged sigh and falls against the seat. She's upset but I know I'm right. "It happens."  
  
"You have to be difficult."  
  
"You have to be all crazy about it!" she defends.  
  
"I just don't want . . ." I look at her and she has her doe eyes on me and I think she might be about to cry.  
  
"I kind of like when you worry," she tells me, choked up. And now I'm confused. She just reamed me for worrying and now she appreciates it . . . But it's Dana and I think you have to expect the unexpected. 'Surprise', remember? 


	10. Stealing Out, Moving In

**  
  
"Right up here . . . on the left."  
  
He pulls up smoothly in front of my apartment - my mother's apartment now. If she's home there will be a big fight and I don't want Harry to hear the insults she'll hurl right at my head.  
  
"You stay here."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah," I answer with an amount of fake nonchalance. "I can handle everything. You just stay *here*. I'll be right back."  
  
**  
  
Stay here . . . she's been up there for fifteen minutes so either she can't handle everything or her mother is there . . . She wanted me to stay here but I don't think I can leave her up there like that.  
  
She's going to be pissed.  
  
I get out of the car and walk up to the building, and enter the door Dana disappeared into. It's dark and it takes a moment before I can adjust my eyes to see the staircase in front of me. I climb the steps that take me above the dry cleaning business and knock on the door.  
  
It opens to a less than pleased face.  
  
"I knew you'd come up."  
  
"And leave a lady in distress stranded?"  
  
"And follow directions?" she matches.  
  
With a shrug, she walks off and I go to follow, but before I can she's dragging a massive suitcase toward me with her good side. It's set at my feet and she puts her hands on her hips, a sweet look properly positioned for all her suckering-in needs.  
  
"I assume I'm supposed to take that down?"  
  
"And they say you aren't perceptive."  
  
She smiles as she turns and heads back to what I presume is her bedroom. It gives me the opportunity - even if she didn't want to give me it - to take a look around. The living room is before me with overstuffed blue couches that have seen much better days - like I have room to talk. Simple dark wooden tables are positioned on the right of each and a matching coffee table completes it. The pictures are old-fashioned painted views of bridges, but they still don't look horrible on the plain white walls. Among them are pictures of Dana growing up, it doesn't seem there are any more taken after a school picture of her bright face with the words '7th Grade ROCKS' on those ugly 'artistic' backgrounds they stick kids in front of.  
  
I don't go through the doorways beyond me but instead pick up the suitcase off of the brown carpet and take it to the car.  
  
**  
  
The little ballerina is broken on my music box and they lay next to each other on the floor. She was looking for money. I gather up what jewelry I have left, all the gold and most of the silver gone. I place the music box back on the dresser and put the little ballerina inside, gently and along with the memories of the present in sixth grade. When Mom was still Mom and Dad had just left.  
  
I bring a paper bag over to the dresser and start putting in the clothes I couldn't fit into the one suitcase. Some are missing but I don't care, either gone out the window when she was angry or what, I still don't care. The small book of classic quotes gets a place among the cloth and so does the unbroken bottle of perfume I found on the floor. She did find my diary, it's torn and I doubt she even read it because it's piled with other books and I take a couple of the sappy romantic ones and a couple of the sad ones too.  
  
The diary gets a second look and I can't help but worry that Harry or my mother might see it and all the things I wrote about him, during infatuated moments and pissed alike. Thinking well I tear out the pages from the rose- print binding and rip them until I can't anymore. I still try anyway.  
  
"Hey."  
  
I look over to see him in the doorway staring carefully.  
  
"Hey," I say.  
  
"You need any help?"  
  
I look at the room and laugh without an inkling of joy or happiness in it. It's then he notices the messed state it's in, and with my destructive display, he probably thinks I did it.  
  
"No, I don't need any help. In fact, I'm ready."  
  
I put the pieces on the bed and put a bag in his hands. He gave me an encouraging grin before heading to the car and I turn to give my room one last look. It's actually pink and perceptively sweet looking. It looks like my past. I go back and gather up my destroyed diary and take it to the wastebasket. Separate the pieces I tear them up - it takes longer than I'd like but it's worth it.  
  
On the way out, I pick up another bag I stuffed with things and stop just before the door. Next to it on my wall is a slightly dusty picture of me at a fifth grade production of 'Dorothy and the Wizard'. I was a munchkin. It was taken afterwards and my hair is in tiny curls I remember my mother carefully putting in before being swathed in a hideous polka-dot dress. My father is holding me and my mom is leaning on his shoulder, all of us smiles and happiness. Genuinely happy.  
  
Happy behind the cracked glass, I hope my mother didn't hurt herself if she broke it with her fist.  
  
I take it away from its place and put it in my bag. Least one happy memory can be enough.  
  
**  
  
"Home, sweet home!" I announce as we come through the door. I drop a light bag full of clothes and books to the floor before hefting the suitcase up and dropping it onto the couch.  
  
BAM!  
  
We both look at the now broken couch with some measure of silence. Slowly, very slowly, I bring my gaze to Dana who seems not nearly as surprised. The bag she held is now clutched to her chest and her face is holding a look that could only be described as 'Oops'.  
  
"Did I forget to explain about the couch?"  
  
"Yes, yes, you did."  
  
"Okay, would you like that explanation now?"  
  
"I think I would."  
  
"Well, I tried to fix it."  
  
"You broke it."  
  
"No, fix it. But, um, when I pulled out the spring I noticed that it sagged there a little and I . . ."  
  
"And you what?"  
  
"Decided to put a piece of wood there so it wouldn't. You know, sag."  
  
"Keep going."  
  
"I got the wood, scrap wood from the garbage bin beside the building. They had this big wooden box so I hit it a couple times and it broke up. I brought it back up and found some nails where I had found the hammer and I went and ripped up the covering thing a little so I could get it in place and I did. That's when I put that nail right there," she says nodding to the couch. "And BANG. And then there was a crack."  
  
"Crack?"  
  
"A loud wood-breaking kind of crack."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah, so I put the cushion back and thought I'd explain later and, um, now it's later."  
  
I looked at the couch and then her. "I guess we'll have to make a new one."  
  
" . . . Make?"  
  
**  
  
"That isn't a couch," I tell him with a laugh.  
  
"It was a couch in college and it's a couch now," he states as he puts the old couch pillows over five plastic crates. The real sofa is behind the ridiculous 'furniture'.  
  
"You must have been thoroughly drunk through-out college."  
  
"Pretty much," he says as he carefully climbs on the structure and precariously lies down. "See? Works."  
  
I laugh at the sight of him. "That's horrible!"  
  
"It isn't the Queen of England's throne, but it isn't bad," he protests.  
  
"Then you sleep on it."  
  
"I didn't say I was sleeping on it."  
  
"I'm not. Shoulder," I protest, rubbing it with a pout. His face changes and I can tell I shouldn't have said that. He doesn't want to joke about that.  
  
He's sitting up and coming over to me. And when he's looking down on me, his hand slides up my arm. I try and joke, try to cover the stirring the touch creates and how it's like he touched me more intimately, more . . .  
  
"I was kidding, but its, its fine. My shoulder's fine."  
  
His hand slides up my arm and turns in slightly to seek my shoulder, inadvertently brushing against my breast on the way. I don't know if he meant that but it - No, of course he didn't mean to. But it felt so . . .  
  
"I'm glad it's fine," he says caressing it through the cotton.  
  
" . . . Me too."  
  
So intense, his eyes are so intense as they stare down and now he's moving closer, filling the gap between us as his lips move closer.  
  
He's going to kiss me.  
  
No.  
  
"No." I jerk away and stare at him; my heart is beating a mile a minute before I try to cover. "No way am I sleeping on that. Are you thirsty? I'm thirsty. I'll be right back."  
  
**  
  
I'm a fucking moron. I almost kissed her, as if she'd want to be touched after what she went through last night. Like I should be the one touching her.  
  
I grab my keys from the table and head for the door, don't look back, and don't be stupid.  
  
"I'm going," I yell.  
  
"Wait," she calls running back from the kitchen. She stops like she doesn't know what to say.  
  
I can relate.  
  
I nod a good-bye in the quiet of the room before I open the door and leave. 


	11. Normal for Them

**  
  
He's been gone for a few hours now.  
  
And the 'sofa' isn't that bad . . . for fifteen minutes.  
  
I know he probably did it to make me laugh . . . I think. And it worked until he had to go and be all confusing. Making me confused, that is. Now I'm sitting on a broken piece of furniture with my feet propped up on a homemade piece(s) of furniture and wondering when he's coming home and thinking how stalkerish and pathetic that is.  
  
The club!  
  
"Shit," I mutter out loud as I reach for the phone and dial the number automatically.  
  
"Diva Divine, this is Chastity speaking."  
  
"Hi, this is Brigitte, I can't make it tonight."  
  
"You have to talk to Grainy, I can't tell him, you have to."  
  
"Why? I had a . an accident last night and I can't come in."  
  
"Well you should have called earlier, or better yet, this morning. You know, some of us take our job seriously."  
  
"And some of us don't? Just - put Grainy on."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Grainy here," is the reply I get a few seconds later.  
  
"Hey! This is Brigitte, I can't come in tonight."  
  
"Dammit, Brigitte, you're supposed to start in three hours."  
  
"True, but I doubt the customers will find a dancer with a massive cut over her shoulder *and* upper back very appealing."  
  
"What about the goods? They still in jiggling order?"  
  
"Dammit, Grainy!"  
  
"Can't you throw some of that chick make-up on it and cover it up?"  
  
"Not now, it will get infected and just think of all the drinks and chicken wings you'll sell when I'm up there with a pussing, bleeding--"  
  
"How long 'til you can cover it?" he grumbles.  
  
"Give me a few days?"  
  
"It's your pay."  
  
It is my pay . . .  
  
"How's two?"  
  
"Good enough. But I want you working an extra dance that day, Felicia is pregnant and she quit."  
  
"Offer at the Fetish Club?" I ask. Felicia was one of the nice ones. Well, civil.  
  
"No, she's actually quitting. Staying at home with the kid I guess."  
  
"Good for her."  
  
"Take care of your accident, Brigitte. Take care of yourself."  
  
"Thanks, Grainy. And . . . walk the dancers out when they leave okay? For a while at least."  
  
"Huh? Why?"  
  
"Just do it."  
  
"What aren't you telling me?"  
  
"Just do it," I repeat before hanging up.  
  
**  
  
"That was . . . Harry, that was . amazing."  
  
"Thanks," I mutter. Glad she liked it, I feel like someone gutted me and Lauren's basking in the afterglow. But then it's not like she should feel like me, she thinks I did this for her, not to forget someone else.  
  
"You were never that ."  
  
My stomach is churning and I think this is one of the biggest mistakes I could have made.  
  
Wait, 'I think'? No, no, I'm pretty damn *sure* this is one of the biggest mistakes I could have made.  
  
"And you were so rough," she says with a conspirator tone and a smile. Just between us, like if she says it too loud someone might hear in her empty apartment. I want to tell her not to flatter herself, it wasn't for her, it was to forget, and when I couldn't forget it was to imagine it was who I wanted it to be.  
  
"Glad you liked it." An echo of my earlier thoughts but she seems pleased enough with it.  
  
"I did," she says in her slightly embarrassed way. When we were dating I should have clued her in that it was okay to be sexual and like different things. Or have bought her handcuffs, either way.  
  
"I have to go."  
  
"What?" That was a tone change, changed to completely unreceptive to whatever excuse I'll give.  
  
"Paperwork." A try.  
  
"Fine," she snaps, climbing out of her starched, white bed linens, the ones that survived the movement to stay on the bed.  
  
I don't think she'll be coming with an understanding and oh so reliable shoulder after this. Second time I used her and I shouldn't have.  
  
"Lauren--" Her bathroom door slams in my face as I button my pants. "Can't I even tell you something?"  
  
"No, but you can get out of my home."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Please, Harry," she says tersely.  
  
I'm turning into such an asshole.  
  
**  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Uh-oh. I clasp my hand over my mouth. I don't think I'm supposed to be answering the phone, I should have let the answering machine pick it up like usual. This whole 'roommates' thing is going to my head.  
  
"Hello? I think I have the wrong phone number," a woman responds.  
  
"Who are you trying to reach?" I ask. I should have just confirmed it and hung up. This whole talking-before-I-think-thing is not in my best interest.  
  
"Harry Senate."  
  
"You have the correct number but he isn't in right now. Can I take a message?" I'm already seeking out a pencil like good message-taking roommates should.  
  
"Yes," she says is a certain slow way. "Tell him his mother called."  
  
Uh-oh.  
  
"M-mother. Right, got it."  
  
"And she'd like to know who the new woman in his life is and why we haven't met."  
  
Hmm.  
  
"It isn't so . . . it's sort of like, hmm."  
  
"Just give him the message, sweetheart. I'll yell at him later."  
  
"Oh, okay. Will do that."  
  
"Thank you. Good-bye."  
  
A click and that's over. I *really* should let the machine get it.  
  
Ring.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
DAMMIT!  
  
"Hello? Who is this?"  
  
"Who is this?" He can't have another mother, right? "This is . . . Forget it, at least now I know why he left in such a hurry."  
  
Click.  
  
. . .  
  
. . .  
  
Maybe she didn't know me but I knew her, her voice. Miss Davis.  
  
"Hey, I'm back," Harry announces quietly as he opens the door. He doesn't look at me and it's pretty clear what happened. Not that it's any of my business.  
  
**  
  
"I thought we could go out for dinner."  
  
"That sounds good. Anywhere in particular?" Dana answers. She's seemed excruciatingly quiet since I came home a few hours ago, when someone is this polite the only reason is that they are covering for something. I could almost think she knows but she can't, how could she? I was . I made sure to act like .  
  
"No where in mind, you can pick." Now where both dancing around it.  
  
". Actually I need to do some laundry tonight so . . ."  
  
"Me too." No, that wasn't quick at all.  
  
"Okay, I can just go and get my things now and we can go."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay."  
  
**  
  
"You coming?"  
  
I peer out into the dank, dark, not at all welcoming place before me.  
  
"I'm thinking."  
  
He smirks and grabs for my hand. I don't know if he felt me freeze up and if he did, I'm sorry. The unsettling feeling isn't . . . it doesn't feel like it's my right. He doesn't answer to me, right?  
  
Harry is pulling me out into the basement of his building and even if he did feel my reluctance it's not showing. I hear a tick and the humming when the fluorescent light above us brightens and it doesn't look so foreboding anymore. Walls light orange tell me a paint brush hasn't visited this hallway in a long time and before me is a drywall set up with a door in front of me and two more on either side. Apparently one is 'Storage' and the other is 'Laundry'. Two options for the tenants of this building since the third says 'No Trespassing'.  
  
"Come on," Harry calls, already inside as he struggled with the door handle.  
  
I walk in to find three washers and two dryers with a large table dominating the middle, an old kitchen table it looks like.  
  
**  
  
It's slightly creepy down here, not overtly just more like . . . too quiet. And the current goings on between Dana and I are not making it any better.  
  
"Let's get started."  
  
Without another thought I throw my sheets on the table and then dump out my laundry bag . . . it's been a while. The fabric piles high and Dana scrunches up her nose.  
  
"It's not that bad," I defend but it kind of is.  
  
She takes the duffel she's been holding and spills out a considerably smaller amount, a few shirts, some jeans, mostly a collection on silky/satiny/lace/cotton/etc. underthings.  
  
That's not going to make things a little more uncomfortable.  
  
She starts separating while I toss my sheets and pillowcases in one machine then pull out a few choice pieces before dumping the rest in another washer along with an ample amount of detergent. Dana just watches.  
  
"Too much?"  
  
"Enough for three loads."  
  
"Not enough then."  
  
She shakes her head and eyes my pile of light clothes.  
  
"That's all you're separating?"  
  
"Everything else can go in together."  
  
"Then I'm just going to put our piles together."  
  
She dumps hers on top of mine and the sight before me is a pile of her panties and bras laying over my powder blue, button down shirts. It's a sight. She picks them up and walks to the last washer, dumping them in.  
  
**  
  
"So, um, I forgot to tell you."  
  
I did forget, after the call . . . We just put away my clothing, and I got *two* drawers and half a closet. We smiled a little but it was . . . uncomfortable. Like something was wrong. No. Not wrong. No, why would it be, a friend doesn't feel wrong over the sexual relationship of their friend. Just . . .  
  
Awkward.  
  
"What did you forget?"  
  
"That your mother called."  
  
"Oh," he says looking down and somehow I don't think he talks to his mother much, he seems to feel a little guilty about that. "So what did she say?"  
  
"She said to tell you that she called. She said she wanted to know who the new woman in your life is, meaning, uh, me. I'm sorry I answered the phone, I should have let the answering machine pick up," I rush out. "I tired to tell her I wasn't a new woman as in, you know *your woman* but I . . ."  
  
"Don't apologize about answering the phone. It's you're place too, roommates, right?"  
  
He looks at me and smiles a little, choosing to forgo the inane ramblings of how I was a woman but not *his* woman and how that particular fact got mixed up . . . Hmm, that even sounds difficult when I'm think it. I sigh and slide up onto the table.  
  
"And Miss Davis called."  
  
Relaxation flies right out the window. Bye-bye. I probably shouldn't have said it but I have to give him his messages, if not he'll think I'm trying to hide something, or sabotage his relationship. Two things I am NOT trying to do. It's none of my business if he can do FAR better than Miss Davis. Just a *friendly* opinion.  
  
He hasn't said anything so I guess it's up to me to fill him in on what she whined - SAID! I mean 'what she said'. I do mean that.  
  
"She told me . . ." Uh. She didn't tell me anything. She accused, but I don't think I should tell him I might have trashed his relationship. "She just . wondered why you left in such a hurry."  
  
Wince. That's right, got to prepare for whatever might come. I'm betting aloofness.  
  
He nods and . . . that's it.  
  
I won. Too bad.  
  
**  
  
I didn't want her to know but I should have considered that Lauren might call to chew me out, and then sigh, and then suggest we get together and 'talk it out'. The problem is I just don't want to. Really, extremely, do not even want to see her. It's bad enough that I used her for sex, twice, almost three times . . .  
  
"Harry?" Her face is a little unsure and she shakes her head, saying never mind. Yeah, never mind you're a monumental dick. She remakes her smile and looks at me. "So . . . what are you getting me for my birthday?"  
  
"Huh?" Huh? Switching the subject of Lauren and sex to Dana becoming a legal adult . . . and sex.  
  
This isn't going to help me.  
  
"Well, I was just thinking, I'll be eighteen in a few days, major milestone, thank you, and being that we are now roommates *and* friends I say you throw me a party."  
  
"Really?" I ask, I may be smiling, it's genuine so I'm not so used to it at the moment.  
  
"Yes, really. Either that, or I thinking big, *BIG* present."  
  
"Present?"  
  
"Why are we repeating each other?" She jumps down and grabs the front of my shirt. "Think of my gift! I want something amazing. Get to contemplating, Harry, because it should be great, teacher's salary or not, I want to be sailing to Milan and drinking champagne."  
  
She finishes her dramatic ramble by getting back on the table and leaning back on one hand.  
  
"You're going to be eighteen, not twenty-one."  
  
"Are you aware of the legal drinking age in Italy? . . . Me neither but I'm *sure* it's got to be lower," she smiles brightly as her eyes sparkle.  
  
She did it, changed it . . . And I'm not going to try to switch the subject back. I'm a jerk, not a moron.  
  
**  
  
We get back to the apartment heavy with laundry and I eye the couch.  
  
"Getting a new one tomorrow, right?"  
  
"Why? The one I made is perfectly fine," he shrugs dropping his clothes on the table.  
  
"Yes, it's very macho of you to have built your own furniture, see my fragile female feelings zoom at the display. Oh, my goodness, I'm all a flutter. Now can we get a new couch?"  
  
He doesn't have an expression but he picks his stuff and heads to the bedroom calling back, "Okay."  
  
"So what about tonight?" I ask. I'm not suggesting we sleep in the same bed, maybe some friends can, but we can't. After . . . after everything, and the fact that he had sex with Miss Davis only a few . . .  
  
"I can bunk out tonight, use the couch . . . cushions . . ."  
  
I follow his eyes and realize what he's thinking.  
  
"And why didn't we think of this *before* and avoid the spring altogether?"  
  
"Because we are stupid, stupid people." 


	12. Night Time Crazy

**  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"Hmm?" she asks from her spot on the bed. We have nothing to do tomorrow so we sat up late, talking and avoiding things, her in bed where she fell a few hours ago after pizza and me on the floor, laying on the couch cushions.  
  
"You up?"  
  
"No, go to sleep," she sighs. The heat is back, oppressive and steaming, making you want to lie there and not move, or speak. Of course I never go along with anything, let alone the protocol of a heatwave.  
  
"Did you take care of your shoulder?"  
  
"Mmm- in a minute," she tells me sleepily.  
  
It's sticky and humid and my tee shirt is clinging to me. I don't know why I'm wearing them in this weather anyway. Modesty from Dana, I suppose, which is one on the dumbest . . .  
  
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," I tell her and she mumbles a response. I toss through my laundry and pull out some boxer shorts, screw the towel, I'd like to keep the cold water on me as long as possible.  
  
I look over my shoulder and see her sprawled on my bed, still in a pair of jeans and my shirt, sweating and uncomfortable. The fabric is sticking to her back and . . . My head is muddled by the heat.  
  
Yeah. Just any site of her, especially in my clothes . . .  
  
Damn heat.  
  
**  
  
"Dana? Dana? Wake up."  
  
Harry's voice is drawing me from my sleep, but I really don't feel like letting it. Even through I'm hot and sticky, and it's one of those uncomfortable sleeps that makes you want to twist around to feel better but you're too lazy to try.  
  
"I don' wan' to," I say, hoping it comes out like I think it does.  
  
"Come on, you'll feel better after you jump in the shower. You have to take care of your shoulder."  
  
Why did he mention that? At those words the cut begins to throb and I whimper in a way that could only be called pathetic. But, still, I struggle up, unhappy at the interruption but too tired to argue and too uncomfortable to lie down again.  
  
He helps me up and I go over to the bureau, reaching into it for a cotton gown with thin straps that match the state of the fabric. I rub it between my fingers and it's barely a wisp, good for this weather. Pushing things around I grab a pair of cotton panties with some stupid tiny flowers or something on them and stumble off into the bathroom.  
  
**  
  
She comes out twenty minutes later, obviously still tired and I remember she didn't get much sleep. The white cotton is thin, and sets low on her chest and perhaps she's too worn to realize it but what skin isn't exposed by low fabric and tiny straps is virtually seen through the cotton in the light of the lamp. I swallow and she looks a little uncomfortable, she definitely isn't aware, and maybe she's recalling that night but I'm not going to. We aren't supposed to . . . I should have worn something more then boxer shorts.  
  
"Can you put some of this on?" she asks holding out a yellow tube. "I'm too sleepy to reach."  
  
I nod, taking it from her and she has to reach out to hand it to me. Then it's like all of the sudden she realizes she has to move closer so I can apply it and she blushes, spinning quickly to hide it, but I catch it anyhow.  
  
Swallowing a lump in my throat, and a stirring that was starting to make itself known, I get to work on her back. Letting the feeling of guilt and anger at who did this to her wash over me and quell my feelings.  
  
**  
  
His breath falls on me and in the heat it's even more burning, the thankful cooling my skin accepted is washing away from that area and rushing between my legs magically turning hot to make me shift slightly and have him pull his hand away. I feel it hover back over the space and somehow it doesn't burn so much anymore when he slides the last bit on my skin.  
  
"Done," he says in a puff.  
  
"Thanks," I tell him turning almost against him and belittling myself for it. Brushing . . .  
  
A normal reaction. It's a normal reaction for a male to become aroused around . . . Forget it.  
  
I take the tube from his antibiotic-slicked fingers and carry it with me to the bed, tossing it onto the nightstand.  
  
"Good night," I say, laying on my stomach, brushing my hair away from my cut and it's goopy medicine. I can't turn my head away from him without a little of my hair falling into the antibiotic - that and he is looking at me with an erection and there are some things you have to stare at.  
  
Just snap your eyes shut. Simple. Simple. If he'd stop star -  
  
Okay, shut.  
  
There.  
  
Now he's behind my eyelids.  
  
Great.  
  
I hear him moving and for some reason I think the bed is going to dip any moment with his weight as he crawls onto it but instead the light clicks off and I hear him settle aside me on the cushioned floor.  
  
He's showered and smells like soap and . . . My chest is fluttering, the pit of my stomach is burning and my thighs becoming moist with the heat as I press them together stiffly. He smells like . . .  
  
Lauren Davis.  
  
Remember that, he smells incredible but he did have the scent of her before. If it hurts let it hurt and I'm too tired to make excuses for why I feel that pain. But, I will be a friend and to be that I have to remind myself that's all I am to him. He lives with me, and he fucks Lauren Davis.  
  
Even if he's washed her scent down the drain the scratch mark I've been trying to ignore on his neck is still there. 


	13. Mornings After and Mama

**  
  
"Morning," Dana says brightly. "Wake up . . . Wake up."  
  
Good commanding voice but it's hot and the air is stuffy and I just want to go to sleep.  
  
Course ice water really perks you up.  
  
So does looking at Dana - that just perks you up in other areas . . . My bleary mind tells me that's not going along with my don't-comment-on-Dana act I instated last night . . . I also thought she wouldn't own a shirt that small either.  
  
Live and learn.  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I yell, mostly to cover my provable ass while I cover other things with a sheet.  
  
"Pouring water on you. Refreshing, huh?"  
  
"Wet," I mutter wiping it off of me and not willing to admit, though shocking, it was refreshing.  
  
"Come on, let's go. Get up, we have more roommate stuff to do today. We get to go to the supermarket." She really likes living together, nearly breaks my heart to tell her no . . . okay, I'm lying, I'm tired and I have no problem saying it.  
  
"No. I don't want to, what time is it?"  
  
"Eleven, I think you've slept quite enough."  
  
"Good roommates don't comment," I manage before falling back on the wet cushions. That could have been sarcastic, or it could have been serious, my unfocused brain is holding back the final verdict.  
  
"But I have a surprise for you."  
  
"Your last surprise broke my couch."  
  
"Come on," she moans, grabbing my hand and dragging me. I guess my dead weight isn't much fun to move because she lets go and puffs out a, "FINE!"  
  
I hear her turn on heel and I try to sleep again.  
  
**  
  
Instant coffee isn't so great but, despite my display in the bedroom . . . hum, that didn't sound very good, I meant despite my perkiness in . . . Oh, forget it! I'm debating this crap to myself! This is what viewing a morning - and nighttime - erection does to a girl who is lusting - No. Who is . . . frustrated, sexually frustrated.  
  
Yeah.  
  
The point is I only woke up fifteen minutes ago, but that doesn't mean Harry has to know that. I sit at the kitchen table and dump some sugar into the cup while I yawn and flip through the thick stack of papers Harry dropped there yesterday. They are all college pamphlets, and Rechen University is staring me in the face.  
  
Rechen, it's only about thirty minutes away and I remember the tour I took there, and the classes I poured over, checking off the ones I liked. It was my fail-safe, along with a few others.  
  
Even if I said I only applied to Smith I also wanted a back up, all that talk of college not worth going to if you aren't where you want to be is never right. I'm not stupid.  
  
So I applied to Rechen, Mount Tortessen, George, and Valor Mack, all dotting the East Coast with the exception of the Southern California's George University. The only one I didn't get into was Valor Mack, in New Hampshire. Getting into the rest was great, but the only logical choice was Smith.  
  
And now I'm having second thoughts. Which is incredibly dimwitted of me.  
  
But all those reasons I had for going to Smith seem so . . . different.  
  
I wanted to get away from here - now I want to stick around. But I won't, not unless it's because . . . I don't want Harry Senate to rule my life and the way things are going my 'friend' is becoming a bigger, and bigger part of my thought process.  
  
"Morning."  
  
I jump as he grumbles out his greeting and goes to the cupboard, pulling away a brown mug and setting it on the table as I gather up the pamphlets and slip them under my forearm.  
  
"Where's my surprise?"  
  
Surpri . . . Does he realize he's *only* wearing boxer shorts, his hair is rubbed into a mess and his chest is . . . right there looking rather . . . umm . . .  
  
"DANA?"  
  
"Huh? Yeah?"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Course, just . . . thinking of what I'm going to tell you since I lied about the surprise. But look, caffeine," I say helpfully, pushing the jar of coffee at him as he looks at me strangely and sits down.  
  
Yep, just ignore the drooling fiend that lies and says she wants to be simple friends . . .  
  
"I'm going to put on a little make-up."  
  
**  
  
She left quickly . . .  
  
Uh . . . oh . . . last night . . . I . . . and . . .  
  
Ah, Morning. The lovely memories you bring from the night before. Yes, the revelations that comes along with a clear head -  
  
Like the fact I got a hard-on putting antibiotic ointment on a cut.  
  
Who'd have thought that was possible?  
  
And then there was the fact that that she accidentally brushed against that hard-on.  
  
Yep, thank you, Morning, for recalling all of these wonderful things. I push through the mail and see a clear ocean view and a couple palm trees, flipping it over Kevin's writing greets me telling me he's having a great time. Bastard.  
  
I pour some hot water into my cup making the water black and drinking it down quick, the heat of the drink flushing me from the inside out, hopefully helping me retrieve some of the brains, dignity, or self-control I've seem to have lost since Dana's arrived in my life.  
  
Fat chance.  
  
**  
  
"We need some of that," I tell Harry, pointing to some cereal loaded with too much sugar. My jitteriness around him was calmed after sitting in the living room and waiting for him to finish dressing - without thinking of him dressing - then the silent ride here, but then it got all fluttery again after I made the discovery . . .  
  
I am becoming petty and pitiful - but that's not the good part of the discovery. They good part is that when I asked Harry to get something off of the top shelf he had to stretch, exposing that little strip of flesh that shows between his blue tee shirt and beige shorts that are a little too big and dip a little too low. One side of the shirt lifts up more than the other side and if I stand just right, pretty much against the shelf, I can see the arrow of hair that narrows down toward . . .  
  
Lauren Davis.  
  
Lauren Davis.  
  
Lauren Davis.  
  
Unpleasant, but an effective chant. It *did* help when he kept leaning down to get ketchup and mustard . . . least I know who to thank now, thank you to the people who decide where to place the products, and the great stock- people that put them there.  
  
He's bending to grab a bag of sugar . . .  
  
Grocery shopping is fun.  
  
**  
  
"We need some of that too."  
  
"Confectioners sugar?"  
  
"Yeah . . . just in case."  
  
I give her a look but get it anyway, reaching up to the top shelf as far as I can. Why do they even bother to put things up this damn high?  
  
"The other bag, behind it," she orders.  
  
"I think they're all the same," I tell her but reach for the one she wants anyway. It's worthwhile when I turn around and she has a smile on her face that looks oddly -  
  
"On to dairy products," she announces and goes on, leaving me to push the cart.  
  
**  
  
Friends have sexual tension, right? Yeah, lots of friends do . . . Lots . . .  
  
"So do you want to grab some stuff for your famous blueberry muffins."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Huh?  
  
What did he . . . Oh. Muffins.  
  
He smirks slowly, wish he wouldn't do that.  
  
"You're amazing muffins you made before, along with that great lasagna I'd like to have again."  
  
He knows.  
  
"Okay, so it's *my* definition of 'homemade'. I cooked it didn't I? . . . Heated it, really. But who do you know can heat up a dish as well as me?" I smile. "I'd be happy to make you some more, but do you want to try something else this time? Mama Geloli's Chicken Parmesan Frozen Dinners melt in your mouth and the Bakery Department makes a mean strawberry tart."  
  
"Don't forget the whipped cream, 'Crème Cream . . . It makes every thing more fun'," his low voice quotes from their commercials. I wonder if their aware of how damn erotic their catchphrase is. Probably, creamy bastards.  
  
**  
  
We approach the check out with a basket full of food, so full that I don't think I've shopped this much since I moved out of my mother's house. I've put things in the basket today I didn't even know existed, but Dana seems interested . . . I sense a lot of 'try this' coming with a spoonful of some indiscernible, possibly hazardous thing.  
  
"Harry . . ." Dana asks slowly, and that's never good, in other situations maybe, but not now. She traces the magazine covers as she stares at them but it's obvious she isn't really looking at them.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I said I need some advice."  
  
"Well, I find 'Time' informative but for good reading you can't beat 'You- Got-A-Tattoo-WHERE? Weekly'."  
  
"What do you think of Rechen?" she asks, ignoring my answer.  
  
"University?"  
  
"No, traveling carnival. Yes, university!" she sighs, dropping her arm to her side.  
  
"It's a good college, excellent art programs."  
  
"So on a scale?"  
  
"It's up there, why?"  
  
"Just asking."  
  
"You never 'just ask', what's going on?"  
  
"Nothing," she says, getting defensive as grabs a tabloid and flips through it. She's annoyed? I should be happy she's anything around me, she hasn't mentioned what happened last night and I should just shut up, but --  
  
"What is it?" I never follow my own advice.  
  
"I said it isn't anything," she says, her voice rising a little and drawing a look from the older woman in line next to us.  
  
"I don't want to do this now."  
  
**  
  
He gave me the low voice! He even leaned in. I am not his student.  
  
"Then stop asking."  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"What?" I snap. Then I wince. Maybe I'm being a bitch.  
  
Maybe.  
  
But I don't want him thinking that I just interesting in Rechen so I could keep on living with him. Even though it'd be cheaper, and right now cheap is the best way to be. Despite the avalanche of food we're buying.  
  
And since I've been trying to orchestrate great opportunities for him to stretch just so I can watch it'd probably be psycho too.  
  
"What's going on with you?"  
  
"Nothing . . . something." I shake my head and breathe out. "I got accepted - to Rechen, I just--"  
  
"Wow."  
  
**  
  
Maybe she expected more of a response than my low observation because she faces forward, getting in front to unload the basket.  
  
"So are you going?"  
  
"No . . . maybe," she shrugs. "I don't know. I just . . . I've wanted to go to Smith for a long time and now . . . I just don't know if it's the place for me."  
  
She's piling everything on the belt and the poor checker is going as fast as possible until Dana finishes and pulls the cart out to the bagger before coming back to me, watching the things being pushed through.  
  
". . . Do you know why I choose Smith, Harry?" she questions, her voice quiet and never leaving the task before her.  
  
"I don't think I do." She used to tell me her reasons, months ago. It was a good school, it was exciting . . . Seeing her now, and even then . . . there was something more.  
  
"I wanted to go away. Freshman year I saw this big review of Smith, with all these 'look at me, I'm happy and successful' people and then I go home and . . ." And I get the feeling her life wasn't happy OR successful at that point. "And I just wanted to leave and go to a place that was like that."  
  
"And you got in."  
  
"But things are different now."  
  
" . . . How?"  
  
Am I really prepared for the answer to that question?  
  
**  
  
Should I really answer that question?  
  
I shrug and smile.  
  
"My psychic told me my fortune changed."  
  
"Hope you aren't charging that on my phone bill."  
  
"Only the 5.99-per-minute ones, the cheaper kind aren't worth calling."  
  
The way we avoid subjects is like an art.  
  
**  
  
This is a lesson to be learned. Do not shop with Dana Poole.  
  
And this was just the grocery store.  
  
Getting into the elevator was hard, keeping it open so we can lug all the bags back out wasn't fun either, but arguing over who paid for groceries this week was the worst. Eventually I won when she declared me aggravating as I pulled out my wallet and she went to help the sacker. I then realized I had a big bill for a bunch of stuff I didn't even want. Teachers are supposed to be smart - Not when you tangle with Dana.  
  
We manage down the hall and, finally the bags are in front of the door and I open it as we both sigh in relief, moving them in seeming like an easy task before I shut it again.  
  
Do *not* shop with Dana Poole.  
  
"Yuck, something is leaking." She lifts her leg and wipes off something that dripped mid-thigh below her shorts all the way down . . .  
  
And then she's staring at me calling my name.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said someone is knocking."  
  
"Right," I breathe out, going to answer it.  
  
The amount of untapped friction is liable to kill us all. We should have a dress code.  
  
Course that wouldn't end up being to my libido's advantage -- my sanity, maybe -- but not my libido.  
  
**  
  
"Mom--"  
  
Mom? No, not my mom, whoa, where did that flood of paranoia come from. Wait. Mom?  
  
I step through the bags that fill the floor and make my way to the living room to see Harry being embraced by a woman, a very, very excited woman.  
  
"I've missed you so much," she says holding his face and brushing his hair back.  
  
"I missed you too, Mom," he says as she wipes off the lipstick mark she made on his cheek. Looking to her side she smiles widely.  
  
Oh boy. 


	14. When You Meet Rena

**  
  
"I take it this is the new girlfriend," my mother says with a nudge-nudge, wink-wink way. Thanks, Mom, that really didn't help when I was eighteen and at twenty-eight that isn't any better.  
  
"Mrs. Senate," Dana says, stepping up and shaking my mother's hand.  
  
"It's Droken now, Rena Droken, but you have the sentiment right," she quips. My mother is perky, very, very perky. Not that it's a bad thing, just, with our different personalities . . . there has been some switched- at-birth questions while I was growing up.  
  
"I'm Dana Poole, Harry's--"  
  
"Lovely companion, whom he's kept away from me for fear of embarrassment," she says eyeing me. "It's not like I carry naked baby pictures of him around with me . . . Aside from that one."  
  
And Dana laughs.  
  
At me.  
  
And now I can't even threaten to through her out anymore because we're -  
  
"Actually we're just roommates."  
  
Yep.  
  
"My husband and I were 'roommates', course that was after we started shacking up so I have to ask if there's something going on."  
  
I get my uncomfortable sense of humor from her though.  
  
**  
  
I didn't think Harry Senate could be quite that embarrassed.  
  
She laughs and looks at her son, patting his arm. "Oh, stop, I'm only kidding, Dear. Dana gets it, don't you, Dana?"  
  
I just smile and nod; she's kind of infectious with her positive attitude. She stares at Harry with such humor and pride and that smile, a big grin. Her hair is short, and blonde, not her natural color, I can tell, but well done just the same, her eyes are blue, not too light or too dark, just somewhere in the middle. She could pass for average height in her beige pumps that match her thin, beige, sleeveless pants suit.  
  
"So, how about something cold to drink? I'm washed."  
  
"Let me," I say, already heading to wade through the bags to get her something.  
  
"Thank you," she says, giving Harry an exaggerated approval look she thinks that I miss. I fix her drink and raise my voice to ask, "So where are you from?"  
  
"Daytona Beach. But I only moved there a few years ago when my husband opened up his practice."  
  
"Lawyer? Doctor?" I ask coming in and handing her a glass.  
  
"Mom married a psychiatrist," Harry says in an oddly upbeat and completely sarcastic voice.  
  
"He's such a wonderful man," his mother interrupts, looking like she means every word. "We've been married five years this April."  
  
She holds up her left hand to show the gold band with four teardrop diamonds positioned horizontally, and an engagement ring with a brilliant princess cut center and sapphire accents on each side. Wow.  
  
"Harrison just thinks he's a little boring."  
  
"A little?" Harry's laughs.  
  
"Hush, you just don't want to know him that well," she reprimands Harry before turning to me. "Charlie is really, quite exciting, for our last anniversary we went out on the boat and stroked the flame by recreating the night he proposed, before that I'd never skinny dipped in my life--"  
  
"Mom, just . . . don't," Harry says wincing at the unwanted details of his mother's anniversary romp.  
  
"You're very lucky," I encourage.  
  
"Thank you," she said with that big grin of hers before laughing at Harry again.  
  
"So, what are you doing in Boston?"  
  
"Oh, just a little trip, decided to visit some old friends," she smiles, this time showing something a little sad in it. She didn't give Harry his knack for avoiding or hiding things, I'm sure.  
  
"Mom, you're not," Harry says firmly but it's almost like he's begging.  
  
"Harry, I have to, his birthday is coming," she says, surprisingly almost dropping her smile.  
  
"No, I don't see him and you don't have to either."  
  
"He's your father."  
  
"In what sense? He wasn't there for me - or you!" he yells.  
  
"Harrison, that's enough!"  
  
"You always let him do this to you!"  
  
I really shouldn't be here, and I'm sure a lot of frozen things are going to melt sitting in there. But I don't think they remember I'm here anyway, at least not Harry, and I don't want to clue them off. Being unnoticed is perfectly fine right now.  
  
"He's your FATHER!"  
  
"And there's nothing I can do to change that," he says darkly.  
  
The next sound is that of the bedroom door slamming.  
  
Mrs. Droken looks at me with a toothy grimace that tries to be a smile. It's incredibly uncomfortable as her eyes fall over the apartment and then the bags on the floor.  
  
"Let me help you with those."  
  
**  
  
I can't believe she would see him, not again.  
  
Two years ago she was yelled out of the room as he took out his aggression on her in the visiting area of the prison. She left in tears, I know because she came to visit me afterwards . . . she didn't go last year and I wish she'd never go again.  
  
I don't know why she feels like she has to see him, she's been married twice since they divorced but he still has something . . . something that makes her want to see him year after year on his birthday.  
  
He's been in and out of prison all of my life, he was never there for her, or me.  
  
Why she wants to be there for him is beyond me.  
  
**  
  
"He's just so hurt by what happened when he was younger," Mrs. Droken says as she sips her drink. All the food was put away along with the bags she folded carefully and now we sit across from each other at the kitchen table.  
  
I don't want to ask what happened to him, I don't know if I deserve to know, maybe Lauren should be here, or Buttle, or O'Riley, but they aren't here, and I am.  
  
"When I first met Harry's father it was love at first site. He was so dangerous," she chuckled, her eyes lighting excitedly as she described it. "He had a motorcycle and I was blown away."  
  
She shakes her head and I know she's thinking of how naïve she was, and how she didn't regret it anyway.  
  
"We got married so young and Harry came a couple of months later."  
  
I don't say anything at the life story she's telling me and I have no idea if I should. This is shaping up to be a full day.  
  
"It was just so hard and . . . and he never changed. He was a hood when I met him and he was a hood afterwards . . ." She sighs and takes another drink. "And Harry . . . he resents not having a father, that he wasn't around. He was always in court, or in jail, or in prison finishing up a sentence."  
  
I know the feeling, I want to say, but I won't. It seems like Harry never had his father, a boy without his father . . . At least I had mine for a while . . .  
  
I look up and I'm a little startled by his mother's soft smile and eyes.  
  
And for all my doubts whether I should be hearing this I get the feeling she wouldn't tell this to just anyone . . .  
  
**  
  
I shouldn't have done that, rushing away like that. It's close to thirty minutes now and my mother is still out there while I'm closed up like the kid I used to be. But I can't help it sometimes, reminding me of the battles we used to have when I was a teenager and doing things she really didn't want me to have any part of. Like the time I got caught stealing that Buick that was a rust bucket anyway, how she had to get me at the police station and her husband at the time, Fred, tried to reason with me. But I wasn't his kid and he wasn't the father I wanted there, as my mother tried to talk sense into me I ignored her and went to my room, slamming the door.  
  
The times have changed, unfortunately my behavior didn't.  
  
And this time she *didn't* make sense.  
  
The thought of her seeing him . . .  
  
I don't want her hurt and he doesn't deserve to have her there with him, not after everything he's done to her, to us.  
  
I shake off my feelings of anger and look at the door. Hearing the light filtering of soft laughter carry. Dana is out there too . . .  
  
And now I feel worry, because the fact that she's there, just outside makes me feel better, like I have someone to lean on. It's not what I'm supposed to feel. Least I don't think so . . .  
  
**  
  
"He looks so . . . angry," I laughed, staring at the picture of Harry as a three-year-old, obviously annoyed with something.  
  
"It was his birthday party and some other little boy blew out the candles before he got there."  
  
The phrase 'Aw' is out of my mouth before I can stop it and the generic quality makes me laugh right after but, really, that's what the picture calls for. The little boy in the photo with folded arms still has a babyish curl to his dark hair and his cheeks are all puffy and ruddy as his pout is very impressive because of how far he can stick his bottom lip out.  
  
"He was always a sweetheart," she smiles fondly. "Until he got to be about nine and found the wonderful sarcastic wit of his."  
  
"Even then?" I question with a smile of my own.  
  
"Of course. I was probably in school more than he was with those ridiculous parent-teacher meetings. There were all completely convinced he had a learning disability because instead of doing his work he'd see how many times he could fold the worksheet in half. They were convinced he had a serious attitude problem, most likely because I was a single mother . . . okay, maybe he had a *slight* attitude," she admitted. "But then one day they started talking about Geology and he loved it. When the time came for tests he got a hundred percent plus all three extra credit questions. They thought he cheated!" She broke out into an all out chortle, gasping for breath and I shook my head laughing with the knowledge Harry Senate gave hell to his teachers. "I'll never forget it."  
  
"Who could?" I added.  
  
"If you think that's a droll story, listen to this one. Harry had just turned thirteen and, like a light suddenly flicked on, he started to notice girls. Well, this one day I--"  
  
"And I think that's the end of storytime," Harry says suddenly, approaching with a smile.  
  
**  
  
Some stories are better left untold.  
  
"Oh, you can't *not* tell me a story that embarrasses darling Harrison," Dana eggs on with a tilt of her head.  
  
"Yeah, I love those little antidotes. Hey, Mom, did I ever tell you that funny story about the time Dana decided to fix the--"  
  
"I think your right," she quickly put in. Her eyes dart to the couch and I can guess my mother already commented about it. "Storytime is overrated."  
  
My mother does one of those knowing smile things that she once informed me *was* her knowing smile after she pointed it out to me at my cousin's wedding when she saw her niece flirting with the caterer. She shouldn't be using it in this situation, hell, in this apartment.  
  
"So, feeling better?" she asks, reminding me of my jackass ways, I nod and try to think of what to say but all that I can manage is an apology. Not for believing she was wrong, but for acting the way I did.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"But I still don't think you should see him."  
  
"Funny thing about this relationship, Harrison, *I* happen to be the parent, therefore I don't have to do what I'm told," she tells me with some amount of humor.  
  
"Funny how things work out," I half gripe, but that's as far as I'll push it. I've been in too many squabbles with my mother to go over this yet again. But I will. The next time it comes up I won't be able to stop my opinion.  
  
**  
  
"So it is lunch, then? Tomorrow?"  
  
I nod at Harry's mother as she stands at the open door, she doesn't ask so much as . suggest, strongly, to the point of 'This is what we will do'. She's such a whirlwind on positive feeling I really don't *want* to object.  
  
"All right, my darling offspring, give your mother a hug," she grins widely and envelopes Harry in a big hug, though the way he towers over her maybe it's the other way around.  
  
She pulls back and her happy face falls on me, to my surprise she turns right around and wraps her arms around me. I realize there's now a matching grin on my face and I look at Harry with it who seems pretty amused with the whole thing - my shock included. When she pulls back she actually pinches my cheek and makes a noise.  
  
"Agh, that skin! I had to pay a couple of surgeons for that quality," she winks. She gives me one last look and hunches her shoulders up like she's all excited before she turns and leaves, blowing Harry a kiss.  
  
We stand there for a moment and then I look at Harry.  
  
"She likes me," I smile.  
  
"Yes," he says, curious about my 'what about that?' attitude.  
  
"And she's a fountain of 'Harry Embarrassment'."  
  
"No, she's not. In fact, she knows nothing," he quips.  
  
"Just the day you became a man, or maybe just the day you discovered girls, still, both tools of harassment I'm eager to discover. And, oh, the joy of the first time you got caught doing - well, anything - it'll be hilarious, I'm sure."  
  
"You are very lucky you live here."  
  
I take the bait and as I give a little turn to the kitchen I ask, "Why?"  
  
"Because," he calls out to me, "Otherwise I'd tell you 'go home'!"  
  
I look over and give him a little smile as I nod. "Good luck with that."  
  
We move over to the kitchen and he takes out some frozen something for dinner and throws it into the microwave.  
  
"Your mom is such a sweetheart, you had better luck than me," I tell him, somewhat self-conscious about what I just said. But he doesn't seem to notice because something is going over and over in his mind and he shakes his head as he punches buttons and I don't think frozen enchiladas need seventy minutes to cook.  
  
"She's too sweet, after all he did, after EVERYTHING she's still visiting him! He's behind fucking *bars*, where he deserves to be just for *treating* her like he did and she's going to see him."  
  
"Enough, Harry!"  
  
Sometimes he a complete ass.  
  
**  
  
That's not good, one minute she we were talking, then I started thinking about what she said, that my mother was sweet. And she is, she's good, too good for the man that is, unfortunately, my father. Then I ranted, now she has that pissed look.  
  
"All I said is how wonderful she is and you have to FAULT her for that? Are you insane? Do you know how LUCKY you are!? You had a fantastic mother, Harry! And one wonderful parent is worth more than two horrible ones," she says, turning and walking to the bedroom.  
  
"Where are you going? I'm cooking tonight."  
  
"I'm not hungry," she tells me before the door slams shut.  
  
As I watch the closed door the smell of burned food reaches my nose, burning nearly every nerve that my nostrils contained with it's atrocious odor. So, being that while distracted I'm not so bright, I open the microwave and pull out the melting container. What setting did I put these damn things on?  
  
"Dammit!" I howl as the container flips and enchiladas and blisteringly hot refried beans sear my flesh as it pours over my hand on it's way to the floor of the kitchen. I step over it and the cold water doesn't help the pain as I swear some more and look at the mess on the floor and then the box on the counter . . . and the little waves with a 'no' sign over them. Non-microwaveable.  
  
Son of a bitch.  
  
**  
  
I heard him ranting but I wasn't going to yell anymore tonight. He actually had the nerve to criticize his mother for being a wonderful person! The last time my mother was a halfway decent person was when she managed to stay sober for my play in sixth grade four months after the divorce. Even then she left early to go to the bar.  
  
Bastard.  
  
The fan blows over the room with and the sound lulls me as I kick off the sheet and twist in my plain, pink cotton nightgown and even with it's thin straps it's still too hot. I yawn and try to turn to a more comfortable position than I have been for the last half an hour since I changed and have been laying here.  
  
**  
  
My hand hurts, I'm pissed once more and Dana's mad at me. That's just great. *And* I still have to talk to Lauren. Boy, my life is just too good to imagine.  
  
I open the door and see Dana laying there in her little - Bathroom.  
  
Ever get angry and want to stay that way without distraction? Yeah, that's me right now. She gives me an angry look of her own as I go in the bathroom and slam the door shut. When I'm inside I bring my hand up to see it's raw, red skin and search for some burn ointment. I find a tube unopened and maybe expired but I used it anyway and strip down to my boxers, not caring about whether I should be wearing something over them for modesty's sake.  
  
Swinging open the bathroom door I stand there for a moment, almost daring Dana to do something because I start to feel the mad rhythm of my pause, but, for the good of us both, she doesn't. Instead she gives me a look that's the equivalent of flipping me off and turns in bed, looking away.  
  
Without another word I slap the fan button with my good hand ensuring it will stay pointed in my direction for the rest of the night and I lay down on my mock bed, feeling fatigue take me faster than I thought it would. 


	15. Brunch is a Bitch

**  
  
Look at him. Sleeping . . . He looks really good when he sleeps . . .  
  
I shake my head and think angry thoughts. I'm supposed to be pissed at him, spoiled little . . urchin. Eh, it's early.  
  
Instead of reaching down and touching the skin of his back like I want to, I reach out the toe on my sandals and nudge his ribs. He moans like he's in pain and I naturally roll my eyes and nudge him again, a little harder as I call his name.  
  
"Harry? . . . HARRY?"  
  
He shoots up like I scared the hell out of him . . . Hehe. But the smirk on my face prevents my laughter and he grumbles something.  
  
"We have to meet your mother for lunch soon . . . or should I say brunch?" I ask, looking at the clock that states ten o'clock. She called earlier; insisting we meet her in an hour and who was I to deprive her of her darling spoiled son who was sleeping in too long anyway?  
  
There's my smirk again.  
  
**  
  
I mumble something that at least signifies I'm up and she seems satisfied with it as she heads out of the room and I catch sight of blue shorts that won't help my current morning erection and I'm glad she left when she did. I rub my eyes and yawn sitting up before I limp to the bathroom and my left hand reminds me I won't be using that one anytime soon.  
  
**  
  
I flip through the channels as I sit on the coffee table, a glass of juice beside me. I hear Harry bumbling around in the bedroom and I become even pissier. No reason in particular but I could probably think something up before he comes out.  
  
Harry stumbled out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes with his right hand as he stopped in front of me. He looked just as grumpy as the picture his mother showed me from a childhood birthday. He stood there for a moment then stuck out his hand, red and a little . . . swollen.  
  
He must have picked up on my slight worry -- slight, I'm *still* mad -- and with that pissy look on his face he almost said his words with a vibe just this side of a pout.  
  
"I burned my hand . . . "  
  
I looked at him, then his hand and turned back to some sitcom rerun and shrugged.  
  
"I don't care."  
  
And I heard his arm drop.  
  
And I did care.  
  
Dammit.  
  
"There's some burn cream in the bathroom."  
  
"I put it on, it still hurts."  
  
Men.  
  
"It's gonna hurt, you *burned* your hand." With an aggravated sigh I stand up and go over to him, holding his wrist and looking over burn. And he eats it up. He absolutely thinks he's got me, sympathy now, and forgiveness later.  
  
**  
  
Got her. Nothing brings out forgiveness like sympathy.  
  
"You should be okay," she tells me. "I'm going to get ready."  
  
. . . What?  
  
The door closes and it's obvious that didn't work.  
  
**  
  
The sun is a little too warm and it makes me squirm and squint in the outdoor café Harry's mother picked out.  
  
"So Dana, I love that blouse, where did you find it?" she asks, trying to drum up conversation between two sullenly quiet brats.  
  
"You know, I don't really remember," I tell her looking down at the white gauzy blouse with the hand-sewn embroidery.  
  
"Well, it's just beautiful."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Harry? . . . Harry?"  
  
"Huh? Yeah, Mom?"  
  
"All right, that's enough!" Mrs. Droken announces, shocking me, but Harry just sighs and takes off his sunglasses.  
  
**  
  
She does tend to get to the point.  
  
"Mom, I'm sorry."  
  
"Why are you two so morose today? Granted my son had a tiff yesterday, but I thought it was all cleared up, what's the problem?"  
  
"We just had a disagreement this morning," I tell her.  
  
"And what happened to your hand?" she asked, noticing at this moment. Great.  
  
"I had a fight with a steaming enchilada. It won."  
  
"We're sorry, Mrs. Droken."  
  
"An apology from Dana? Where's the press when you need them?" I mutter.  
  
She gives me a spurned look but right now I don't care.  
  
"Maybe they're-" Dana stops abruptly, not wanting to say anything in front of my mother and it's a good point, I shouldn't be saying anything either. She looks at my mother and smiles politely.  
  
**  
  
"Mrs. Droken, please excuse me, I'm just not as hungry as I thought." I give Harry a completely pissed off look and stand, his face drops, completely unbelieving.  
  
"Dana, please stay," she asks sweetly and I wish I could reconsider but I really don't want to have some stupid word-war with Harry in front of her and have her thinking anything less of me.  
  
"I really couldn't," I say. "But it was wonderful to see you again."  
  
Leaning down, I give her a kiss on the cheek and leave.  
  
**  
  
"Very sharp, Harrison," my mother says, informing me of what an idiot I am as Dana leaves my sight.  
  
I shake me head and put my glasses back on as I tell her, "You don't understand."  
  
"But she's the nicest catch you've gotten yet." I try to cut her off but she holds up her hand. "Just friends or not. So, are you thinking of asking her out yet?"  
  
She takes a sip of her water and I fix a look at her. "No."  
  
"Well why not?" she almost reprimands. "She's polite, she's pretty, and she really likes you . . . and she's got plenty of years left in that smile," she grins happily.  
  
"Maybe too many years, Mom. She's a little young."  
  
"You're both young to me."  
  
Ha.  
  
"No, she's not just young, she's younger. She's eighteen." Tomorrow anyway.  
  
"So what's the problem?" she asks, always the optimistic. "Your father was in his twenties when I was eighteen."  
  
"Comparing Dana and my relationship to you and *him* is NOT going to make me want to pursue it." That's an understatement.  
  
"Harrison." She looks at me with something akin to pity, like she feels badly that I can't see something the way it 'is'. "Stop for a minute and look at what's going on. Perhaps it's already evolving and you just aren't noticing. Take last night for example. You had a regular hissy fit and, obviously, something else is happening between you two that's upsetting, but she showed up here today with *you* right next to her. Isn't that saying something?"  
  
And it is.  
  
It says 'trouble'.  
  
**  
  
Screw it. That's my discussion as I walk into the apartment and slam the door. I'm going to work tonight. I'm going to work *and* I'm going to Smith. Why did I think this could EVER in a million years work out? Yes, I'm pissed, and later I'll reconsider going to Smith but for right now . . .  
  
I punch in the number to the club and huff a little before sitting on the bare milk crates. What do I tell Grainy? The cut *is* healing well, I could just keep a scarf over it or something. It'll be my new thing.  
  
Yeah.  
  
"Diva Divine, this is Chastity speaking."  
  
"This is Brigitte, I need to talk to Grainy," I bitch slightly.  
  
"Brigitte? Oh. Yeah, I'll get him for you."  
  
Who knocked that bitch over the head? Chastity hasn't been nice to me from the first split seco -  
  
"Brigitte?"  
  
"Grainy, hi. I was calling to tell you that I can work tonight . . . Grainy?"  
  
"Brigitte, there was a call here for you."  
  
"There? Who would know to call me there?"  
  
"Well, you didn't leave your new number and . . ." He trails off and it clicks in my head, the only one that would try to get in contact with me there would be -  
  
"Oh, God. Is Casey okay? Ginger. Is Ginger alright?" I ask, my chest pounding.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, Ginger is fine . . . she's the one that answered the call . . . Brigitte, it's your mother."  
  
"What?" My throat has gone completely dry and all I can do is press my palm against my eye and try to concentrate on what he's saying.  
  
"She's in the hospital, Brigitte." 


	16. Balance

Justine: Thanks for your reviews, they crack me up.  
  
**  
  
"You eat just like when you were a child," my mother smiles. "You never gain anything either, reminds me of your fath-"  
  
"Mom."  
  
"Right, no more mention of the hideous bastard that never did anything right except give you to me," she answers sarcastically with a sigh as she fixes her napkin.  
  
"Big prize."  
  
"You are a big prize, and I never want to hear you say otherwise again," she chastises, legitimately angry. "You are the best thing that I could have ever gotten. It was worth anything else."  
  
"Are you forgetting my teenage years?"  
  
"Nothing like a little of the bad times to make you appreciate the good ones," she adds optimistically. I don't reply and she looks at me, tapping her fingers on the tabletop before she shakes her head. "He's your father, Harry, and that's why I have to see him. Because I loved him for so long and it hurts to see him like that. Because he's a part of my past that - though hard as hell - I don't regret."  
  
"Because he gave you me? That's going to help with the guilt."  
  
"Oh, stop it. It's not about you. It's about a relationship, one that ended, but still has a connection."  
  
"Do you still love him?"  
  
I used to ask her that when I was about sixteen and she used to see him. I didn't want her to say yes then and I certainly don't want her to now. Because I remember everything, I remember being dirt poor and him stealing her jewelry that Grandma gave her so he could gamble or do whatever. I remember him being drunk and passing out while she stole it back to go pawn it for food money.  
  
"No. I don't," she says a little wistfully. "I have a little piece of my heart for my first love, but I don't know if he was my true love. He didn't stay with me through the hard times, Harrison."  
  
"So why did you stay with him?" That came out a little bitter.  
  
"Because I had to. Now . . . now I feel like I did when I was a teenager and wanted to love him because no one else did, because he was alone and didn't have anyone else. That is still there inside of me."  
  
And I look at the tabletop to push away my glass.  
  
Dana was right.  
  
She is just a good person, and I can't change that. And I wouldn't want to.  
  
**  
  
Tropostey Hospital.  
  
Tropostey Hospital.  
  
That's where she is.  
  
She asked for me. She said to tell her daughter she was in the hospital.  
  
They told me it was Tropostey Hospital.  
  
I've been sitting here for the past twenty minutes telling myself that and it's still hard to believe. Finally I stand and go to leave, I still don't have a key and so the door is always open these days. That's dangerous . . . Random thoughts fly through my head and I wonder, is this just a way for me to cope?  
  
Should I write a note for Harry? Looking at the clock it's almost twelve fifteen, how did it get so late? I had to walk home from the café . . . home. My thoughts dart back to my old home, with my mother, and then further . . . when I was a kid and she was a great mom . . .  
  
I wipe tears away and run out of the apartment, punching a number in the elevator and rushing inside. I can't hold back the sobs that I want to, if only a little, because it seems like there's so much I won't be able to handle it. When the bell dings I look up to see I did hit the right number for the first floor.  
  
**  
  
I jingle the keys against my hand and stare at the glowing indicators above the elevator. Silently I've been going over my speech to Dana, trying to find a way of saying, 'You're right' without *actually* having to say it.  
  
But I was wrong. I'll admit that only to myself, thanks.  
  
I was complaining and moaning when Dana only saw it as a good deed, a good mother. It seemed obvious she didn't get the upswing on that deal if Mrs. Poole threw her out and she had to come to me. Now that I think about it she never told me all the details what went -  
  
The elevator opens and Dana stands there sobbing.  
  
**  
  
"Dana? What's wrong, what is it?" Harry asks and it only makes me cry harder. He doesn't hold my arms and try to talk to me, he just hugs me, and it's just what I need. But I still sob. "What happened? Is it what I said? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry."  
  
"No." I tell him, pulling my head back. "It wasn't you. I just c-called --"  
  
And I can't finish.  
  
"What is it?" he questions, completely unnerved as he tries to wipe the tears from my face and get me to focus.  
  
"My mother's in the hospital," I manage to choke out.  
  
And he holds me tighter.  
  
**  
  
It's white and sterile. And for a hospital I guess that's always a plus, but to the common person walking down the corridor it's creepy and full of antiseptic smells.  
  
Dana's calmer then she was before and she holds onto my arm as we walk along the floor we were directed to. The door numbers seem too confusing and when I'm sure I passed a room more than once we stop at the nurse's desk.  
  
Dana clears her throat to ask. "I'm looking for a patient. Sandra Maison."  
  
Maison? I always assumed it was Poole. She never bothered to come to teacher meetings to correct me.  
  
"Are you family?" the young, efficient-looking nurse asks.  
  
"Yes, I'm her daughter," and before the nurse asks she looks at me.  
  
**  
  
My mind is all clouded and I can't think right. What if they don't let Harry in because he's not family? I can't see her alone, I can't do it.  
  
"He's my husband." The nurse nods and I look at Harry in apologize but he just nods for us to follow the pristine nurse. It's trite but that's what they always say in movies when they want someone with them. I guess it works.  
  
"Here you are," she says stopping. I stare the door and mummer a thank you as she leaves. There's a chart hanging there with her name and I touch the print before taking a breath.  
  
I have to do this now or I won't do it at all. I reach out and push the handle to walk in.  
  
My hand falls until it meets Harry's and I hold it as tight as I can as we approach the bed. A made-for-TV movie plays and her eyes look glassy, making me wonder if she snuck in liquor before I realize it's probably the pain medication.  
  
"Mom?" I ask softly.  
  
**  
  
The woman lying on the bed doesn't look much like Dana; her hair is bright red on the starchy white pillow. Her eyes are a dull brown as she looks over and her face seems sunken, defeated. Maybe, years ago, she resembled her daughter, but now she's gaunt and old beyond her years.  
  
She seems almost as if she doesn't recognize Dana before she makes a face and turns back to the television.  
  
"Mom?" she asks, her heart breaking in her voice.  
  
"What?" the woman barks grouchily. "I'm watching something."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"You don't see my leg?" she asks exasperated. It's up in a cast and elevated.  
  
"But how did it happen, Mom?"  
  
"I don't know, some idiot wasn't driving right, didn't see me when I walked off the curb."  
  
"They said you blacked out and the car couldn't avoid hitting you," Dana responded, starting to cry again.  
  
"Who said!?" her mother yelled. "Do you think I'm lying? Believe a maniac- driving stranger over your OWN MOTHER?!"  
  
"No, that's not it. A nurse from the hospital called the club, they said you asked them to call me," she insisted. "She told me--"  
  
"HA! Why would I ask them to call you," she sneered. "Just a whore that I wouldn't even allow in my house."  
  
**  
  
That makes me break down completely but it's like my feet are stuck to the floor, I can't leave, I can't move. I was like a stone when I left the house and now it's like the tears that wanted to come that night are able to rush out now.  
  
"Why would I want them to call you?" she spits. "A reminder of your father is what you are. Looking just like that son of a bitch! Daddy's little girl. You're just a snobby little girl who works the streets now, aren't you? And who's that? A 'john'? Has my darling little child finally crossed that line from taking off her clothes to letting them do whatever they want for a dollar?"  
  
Harry steps up immediately and opens his mouth to say something, his face angry before I turn, pushing him out of the room and into the corridor. Tears are streaming down my face as I still hold him, preventing him from going in even if there's no need and his only concern right now is holding my face and telling me things in a sweet, low voice.  
  
**  
  
Dana's trying to calm down, I see it in her as she shakes her head and tells me she's okay.  
  
But she's not.  
  
"Dana, breathe, alright? It's fine," I say because I don't know what else to say.  
  
"I-have, I have to see the . . ." she cries more and I hold her close to me. She buries her face in my shirt and we don't have that 'careful, no touching' rule flashing over us. We can't have anything that would prevent my comforting her now.  
  
It seems like a long time before she pulls away and heads over to the nurse's station. Wiping her cheeks she clears her throat before asking for something and when she comes back she's looking over a stack of paper.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"She doesn't have insurance," Dana informs me with a raw voice.  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"I have to."  
  
"You have no money. You have college . . . Dana, don't."  
  
"I really don't have it to spend, Harry . . . I . . . I lied to you. There was never a bank mistake; I just needed somewhere to stay for a while. She . . . She found my bank card and tried to drain me, I needed help and I thought of you . . . I just needed somewhere to stay instead of moving from hotel to hotel and draining even more than a flat rent rate. I'm sorry I just didn't tell you . . . I . . . God, Harry."  
  
She's breaking right in front of me, she should have told me in the beginning, I would have let her stay anyway, but she doesn't realize that and that is what's so hard to see. "I would have let you stay anyway."  
  
She cries more and wipes away the tears.  
  
"Dana, we can figure something else out though. We can--"  
  
"She's my mother, Harry," she says with a roll of her eyes like she hadn't been crying seconds ago and the tears still didn't roll down her cheeks.  
  
"She doesn't act like it."  
  
She stops her appraisal of the papers in hand and looks up and me. Her eyes a red and clear from the wash of crying. She hunches her shoulder and gives me a half smile before she answers.  
  
"I have years to go to school."  
  
It's small and sad as she puts her back against the wall to slide down and start with the paperwork.  
  
**  
  
I talked to the doctor when he came around on his rounds. He was so young that Doogie Howser was probably his supervisor, but he was nice as he told me and Harry about my mother's leg and how she had some bruised organs in edition to a liver that, though weak, was surprisingly in good condition considering my mother's 'problem'.  
  
I nodded and smiled at the good points although I didn't want to smile.  
  
I just can't understand what I feel right now. My mother pretty much abandoned me at eleven and now, after she berated my in front of Harry and showed the secret I tried to keep from him, displaying how much my own mother thought of me. . . After all that, all I wanted to do was to go in there and crawl into bed next to her and put my arms around her like she used to do for me. But I can't, and I even when I told myself I accepted that I don't think I ever really did until now.  
  
They gave me a preliminary print out of the hospital bill so far.  
  
If it wasn't certain before it is now. College will have to wait.  
  
Harry pulls me closer like he's been doing the whole day and it's all I can do not to fall asleep in his arms. But he moves his face into my neck and now it's all I can do not to cry. I pull away instead and look up at him with a slight smile.  
  
"We can go, she obviously doesn't want me here," I whisper. "But, I just want to see her before we leave, okay?"  
  
"Do you want me to come with you?" he asks, protective of me. And I smile a little again.  
  
"No thanks. I'm a big girl," I tell him, even if I couldn't think of taking a step inside without him before. I don't want him to see the weak side of me; he's already seen it too much. I don't want him to see my mother's bad side either. "Be right back."  
  
When I return to her beside she's half-asleep, the movie long since over. With her fluttering eyelids I see the medication trying her and at least she won't be conscious enough to belittle me.  
  
"The Doctor said you're okay, Mom. I'm going to leave now, but don't worry about the hospital bills." Everything I tell her is barely audible as she lies there, drool seeping out of her mouth before I step forward and take a tissue from one of those cheap boxes and wipe it away. "Tuesday is my birthday, you're officially rid of me. It was hard, but that part is over now. I love you, Mom."  
  
"Goodnight, Dana," she slurs startling me. She says nothing else and I step back, telling myself not to cry anymore. She looks tired even in her sleep. My mother, who I adored with the curled red hair, the best mom in the world, the woman in a drug induced sleep with drool seeping out of her mouth. I wanted to be just like her when I was a child, now I pray I never will be.  
  
"Love you," I whisper and I look at her one more time before I leave.  
  
**  
  
Anger flooded me when she'd left me outside of the room. What could Mrs. Maison be saying to her? She had no right to say anything to her. Dana was NOT a whore, she was a stripper and there is a big difference. Besides, it looked as if she hadn't taken much interest in WHAT Dana was doing for a long time so what right did she have to say something now?  
  
When we left the hospital I asked her were she wanted to go and she only told me, 'Home', and I didn't know were to go. To the place she once called home? Did she even call my apartment that? Maybe she didn't see it that way, but I wanted her to.  
  
"I want to go home," she whispers to me. "I think I left the TV on."  
  
That catches me and I glance at her to see her staring out the window.  
  
She wants to go home. 


	17. Home

**  
  
The apartment is more inviting then it's ever been. I walk in with a deep breath, even if it smells a little musty from the heat it's perfect to me.  
  
"Are you okay?" Harry asks behind me.  
  
"No," I say shaking my head. "I'm a complete moron. We just walked into a hospital with a healing - yet still not good - cut and a burned hand *and* walked out without bothering to get someone to look at either problem."  
  
"I'm serious."  
  
"Me too. I wonder if my tetanus shot is up-to-date."  
  
He smirks and holds up his hand; "It's burger joints from here on out."  
  
"You burned your self using the microwave, not making a seven course dinner," I say turning and heading to the kitchen, the easy banter helping me calm down.  
  
"My hand doesn't know that."  
  
"Harry, your hand couldn't do that."  
  
He comes around me and gets a glass out, filling it with water and handing it to me. "I'll have you know I took two cooking classes in my lifetime."  
  
"Home etc. doesn't count."  
  
"One then, but I did damn good . . . until I dropped out in the second week."  
  
"Thought it was an easy A, huh? It's official then. You're a culinary wizard," I answer cheekily as I take a drink.  
  
**  
  
We've moved the television into the bedroom. It's not hard; it's not a big- screen. I think that this is becoming our main hangout, soon I'll just bypass the living room completely and usher people to the bedroom and tell them to pull up a cushion. Dana and I sit side-by-side on the cushions watching the television, both of us in our pajamas. I opted for actual pajama pants tonight as the fan whirls on us and Dana sits beside me, her head on my arm as she rubs some fabric of her pink, cotton, short-set between her fingers. I try not to notice and focus on some 'hard hitting' prime-time cop show.  
  
She's been quiet all night, thinking about her mother probably and I've . . . I've been thinking about her, and what my mother said. 'Just friends' wasn't having the same tone to it and neither of us wanted to notice or care.  
  
"I want to thank you, Harry, for today."  
  
"You don't have to."  
  
"I do," she tells me as she lifts her head. "You were next to me through the whole thing."  
  
"Of course I was, you're Dana, I have to--"  
  
"Watch out for me?" she asks with a self-deprecating snort.  
  
"Watch out for the people that get in your way," I correct. She looks at me before a slow smile spreads over her lips. What? It's the truth.  
  
Too busy thinking to myself, too busy smiling I don't notice right away that she's looking at that smile, at my lips. I feel the pit of my stomach making me acutely away of the situation and my brain telling me not to even try and speak or move. And I don't. And with a glance to my eyes, then lips, she flutters her eyelids closed and kisses me.  
  
It's soft and sweet.  
  
Too bad my body doesn't realize it because as sweet as it is it's making me tense up, heat shooting throughout me. I try to obey my brain but I move anyway, lifting my hand to cup her cheek and she kisses me more firmly, but doesn't try to further it.  
  
Slowly she pulls away and smiles, shaking her head.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
**  
  
Talk about mixed signals. It was an inspiring kiss, the fact I didn't immediately try to yank off his pants is surprising, but my apology seems to throw him.  
  
"You don't have to apologize."  
  
But he understands. Or he thinks he does.  
  
"Thanks," I say again for the second time tonight. "It was . . . I just had a insane day and . . ." And I wanted to kiss you. But I won't say that because I'm sure he thinks it was because I was stressed, not wanting him and it's both. But after all, what would a 'friend' have any business doing kissing someone they promised never to see in that way. Thoughts of what I did, what he saw me do, flash in my head and I sink back. "Sorry."  
  
**  
  
"It's okay." I didn't mind . . . I just wish it were because she wanted to, not just because she needed comfort in that way . . . I don't want to lose Dana to a Lauren situation.  
  
The shrill ring of the phone in the living room cuts through both our thoughts, Dana jumping beside me before laughing at it and settling back against the bed.  
  
"Next the phone gets a new home," she orders, pointing to the bedside table. I salute her and get up, stumbling over a stray book as I reach for the ringing in the darkened room.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Lauren?" I asked, my voice dropping a couple of decibels.  
  
"Yes, where've you been? All I get is your machine, I hate those things."  
  
"I've been busy, my mother's in town."  
  
"Oh, that's really original, Harry," she says loud enough to qualify as pissed for Lauren.  
  
"It's the truth, she's up from Florida," I defend, surprisingly I have a leg to stand on here when I've been lying to her all week.  
  
"I suppose she's hanging around your apartment too? Answering your phone."  
  
Just when I thought I had an easy situation.  
  
"That's my roommate."  
  
And this time she actually snorts.  
  
"Right, Harry. You just magically have some woman pop up to live with you."  
  
I sigh raggedly and clutch the phone, "It's none of your business anyway, you broke up with me remember?"  
  
"And you screwed my two days ago, remember?" she demands.  
  
"Harry?" I spin to see Dana in the doorway, a worried look on her face. I cover the receiver although Lauren isn't finished harping. "I got worried, is it the hospital?"  
  
"No, it's not. I got it."  
  
She looks at the phone and I see her nod and back up, definitely getting the wrong impression.  
  
"Dana--" But she's gone in the room before I can say anything and it takes me a while to remember I'm still holding the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"I'm still here. Are you?" Lauren snarks.  
  
"Obviously, if I'm talking." Sometimes she could be really -  
  
"I need to see you," she says a little more quietly than before.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said I need to see you."  
  
"I'm busy."  
  
"Tomorrow then."  
  
"I can't tomorrow, my mother's leaving and I want to see her before she goes."  
  
"Then Tuesday. In the teacher's lounge around ten?"  
  
"Fine," Anything to get off the phone.  
  
"Alright. Goodbye, Harry."  
  
"Bye," I say quickly hanging up. It wasn't the bittersweet gesture that she gave, but, really, I don't care.  
  
**  
  
He comes back into the bedroom a little more fake like he's trying to make up for his phone call. That shows right there that it wasn't his mother calling. I tell myself don't be hurt but . . . Dammit, it's been a tough day, a little self-pity isn't going to kill me. Especially since I just kissed him and . . .  
  
"I'm really tired, I think I'm going to go to bed."  
  
"Dana--"  
  
"No, really, I'm just . . ." I shake my head and get up, grabbing for the tube of antibiotic on the table and heading to the bathroom.  
  
"Do you need any help with that?" His voice is a little . . . searching when he asks and when I turn he's looking at me the same way.  
  
I look at the medicine in my hand and the minute turns into two before I look at him . . .  
  
"No thanks, Harry. I'm not *that* tired."  
  
**  
  
I'm in bed . . . on cushions, that is, before she comes out. The television flashes against her skin as she walks over me to climb onto the bed.  
  
I want to ask her if she's all right but I don't feel like I have the right. She shifts and the mattress squeaks a little as she tries to get comfortable, I almost open my mouth but it happens again, and she's facing away from me now. Her shoulder seems to have gotten to the point where she can shift better and she's no longer forced to look in my direction. I reach up and turn off the television, silencing the room except for the whirling of the fan until I hear quiet cracked voice.  
  
"Goodnight, Harry."  
  
**  
  
The sun's not even up and my eyelids hurt when I open them.  
  
Happy Birthday to me.  
  
It's warm and the fan feels good, making my body start to feel normal and the stuffiness in my head start to dissipate. I still don't move much, just enough to scoot over to the edge of the bed and look down on Harry . . .  
  
He looks uncomfortable from the heat . . . Letting my hand drop I touch his cheek, prickly with stubble. And I cry. I don't want too, I cry too much these days, but I keep on anyway. I try to be quiet, bury my mouth, and nose in my other arm and I can't stop touching his face.  
  
Ugh. Have I gone downhill.  
  
Pulling my hand away I stumble out of bed and run to the bathroom.  
  
**  
  
How does she wake up so early? I rub my eyes with my bad hand before I feel the pain and yank it away. I sit up and scrub through my hair as I eye the clock, I'm the teacher, I have to get up at the crack of dawn, and she's been beating me to it . . . Who cares? It's early and the foggy thoughts are clouding my head needlessly and I yawn as I put my back against the bed.  
  
I hear the door and can hardly force my eyes open to see her when she comes out.  
  
She's wearing a towel.  
  
It's amazing how quickly that can wake you up. And she doesn't seem bothered by it. That's making is so much better that I have to flip the otherwise useless sheet over my lap.  
  
"Morning," I mumble through my parched lips.  
  
"Morning," she tells me with an upbeat tone as she pulls out a drawer. Her face seems renewed, like she's focused on a goal. The towel is a mellow orange wrapped around her body and she keeps a hand on the tuck at all times. It's kind of hard to focus on anything else when you first wake up. "Where's my wishes?"  
  
"Hmmh?" I ask, genuinely confused. Is that like some woman's clothing thing? "Is that some woman's clothing thing?"  
  
"No," she smiles. Her hair is still wet and it's dripping down her back. "My birthday wishes."  
  
Let's review. In a towel, no embarrassed vibe I would have expected, and she's officially eighteen . . .  
  
"Happy Birthday?" I sound like a hopeful puppy. I hope this is from sleeping, I hope I'm not fully awake and that's why I'm finding it hard to think beyond those few facts. Otherwise . . .  
  
I'm screwed.  
  
**  
  
"Thank you very much," I tell him. "I plan on seeing presents."  
  
Thoughts of my mother and . . . everything, edge on my mind but I push them away. While in the shower . . . crying . . . again . . . I told myself to stop. I have to because if not I feel like I'm going to fall apart. I can deal later, but not now, not today. Holding my smile with a death grip I pull out some clothes and set them on top of the dresser.  
  
"You should wake up now, I'm going to want my birthday breakfast," I tell Harry without a glance. When I look over he's still sitting there as if he's trying to find out what's going on and I see that he must have just woken up. It makes me give a genuine grin. Walking over I drop to my knees in front of him. "Are you even conscious yet?"  
  
This time he doesn't look so confused.  
  
He stares at me . . . like . . .  
  
I'm the one unsure this time as his hand goes up to my hair and he brings me close to kiss him. I don't think I close my eyes until the last minute just to make sure I'm not wrong, but how could I mistake this? His lips are so . . . not what I expect for the morning. Not parched, but coaxing and soft, and . . .  
  
Harry . . .  
  
. . .  
  
. . .  
  
He's kissing me, hands in my hair grabbing just a little so the water runs from it to drip on my back. And I have to pick now to want to cry? But I won't, I don't and I just kiss him until I'm laying over his lap, pressed against his bare chest as I try to think, or is that not think or . . .  
  
Harry . . . 


	18. Birthdays and ByeByes

I didn't plan on writing anymore D/H stuff, or posting any beside the things I've already written and haven't posted, however, I did start a sequel for this story a long time ago. I'm not sure if I want to put the time into continuing it, but I've received such amazing feedback that it encourages me. If I get enough people that are interested I'll at least *try* and write more to it. So, let me know and . . . read on . . .  
  
**  
  
When I pull back she's hardly inches away and she looks at me with a heady expression and her breath falls against my mouth. I want to kiss her again, to feel her tongue against mine this time, but she pulls away, crawling back and putting a hand on the tuck in her towel that, if I'd thought about it I might have put a hand over it myself.  
  
I don't say anything as she sits on her knees and looks at me and I think she's waiting for a confirmation that this was a mistake, but I don't say anything. And she blinks and smiles.  
  
"Birthday kiss. Thanks."  
  
And she says it so simply that I squint my eyes at her, but she ignores me, getting up to grab her clothes and go into the bathroom.  
  
**  
  
I'm going to ignore it. He can't make me acknowledge the fact that we kissed twice now, and he shouldn't even try. We're friends . . . what a joke.  
  
I look at my reflection. Homewrecker. Whether I was hurt last night or not, he IS with Miss Perfect Nun Davis, and I just seemed to forget that little fact when it was convenient. Shutting my eyes tightly I remember what I told myself. Don't think about it now, let it go until later, it will still be just as big a problem then. Opening them up I look at my disbelieving face and shake my head, what am I saying?  
  
I'll just forget it.  
  
Because it was nothing.  
  
And yet I still can't let go of the sink or I'm going to drop like a stone.  
  
Great birthday.  
  
It takes my over twenty minutes to dress in the black shorts and a tee shirt with some catchy little picture I wore the first night I came here. Great memory. Putting on my make-up takes a while too since it takes me a too long to get up from the edge of the tub and will myself to act normally. With a deep breath I look at the door and force myself forward . . . to smell bacon.  
  
I walk through the empty bedroom, following the smell to the kitchen where Harry stands at the stove, still in his pajama pants and wonderfully bare chest . . . Boy; my self-control plan is working well.  
  
"Your birthday breakfast," he tells me as he puts some eggs onto a plate as I sit. And he smiles.  
  
Harry doesn't just smile for anything, you might get a half smile, you can get a smirk, but a full smile, you have to work for those, and something like that stirs you when you get it. I drop my eyes to the plate and stab the eggs. He can't make me acknowledge those kisses. Na na na na.  
  
The eggs aren't salty; this time pepper is the one to overpower, but not enough to make you choke. And, just like the first time he made them, he looks at me for the verdict.  
  
"Delicious," I tell him like before with another forkful, and they are. He made eggs for me. This thought still boggles my mind and I don't know why that is. "I just can't believe you cooked for me." Then I catch myself to add, "With your hand."  
  
"It's all about special days, your birthday, the day after a robbery, you know, times you want to remember," he cracks. I eat the eggs and he flips the bacon with his good hand, there is a lull before he speaks again. "Dana, I wanted to tell you something."  
  
**  
  
Am I actually going to say this? On one hand it could sound like I was planning something and on the other . . . I just want to set the record straight.  
  
I turn the bacon off and leave it on the stove as I go to sit across from her, tapping the glass of juice I poured for myself.  
  
"About Lauren and I."  
  
"You don't have to explain," she answers automatically, dropping her fork and doing the same to her glass.  
  
"I'm not explaining, just correcting." I clarify. "Lauren and I aren't together, we haven't been for a while."  
  
"A couple days?" she smarts before wincing, probably mentally berating herself for spitting that out.  
  
I pull back and shrug. "Longer than that, but . . ."  
  
"I know how it is," she nods. "You get . . . you need someone."  
  
I start to speak, but she just shakes her head.  
  
"I'm not going to condemn you for it, Harry, if that's the problem. Besides you're human and I know how it is." I see a wall go up before my eyes and she stands to go set her plate on the sink and smirks a little bitterly. "You don't think I had boyfriends when I was trying to ignore a crush on the great Harry Senate?"  
  
"Dana, if you're trying to make me jealous--"  
  
"I don't need to make you jealous, Harry, that time came and went."  
  
"Not according to what I've seen," I can't help saying. She stands stunned and I didn't mean to say it like that, I wasn't trying to refer to that night, but I think she is. "I didn't mean then, before, I just--"  
  
"No, it's fine. This was just . . . living here was a big mistake."  
  
"You're the one that begged to--"  
  
"BEGGED?!"  
  
Begged? Shit, it's pretty bad when you don't realize what you're saying until someone repeats it.  
  
"Well I'm not *begging* anymore, Harry. I can find someplace else," she says brushing past me.  
  
"Running away again."  
  
"No, that's YOUR area."  
  
"I don't think so!" I say as I grab her arm. "I didn't rush out of the bedroom like someone lit a fire under my ass!"  
  
"And I didn't miss my ex and decide I needed a PIECE!"  
  
"NEITHER DID I!"  
  
"Right, Harry." She pulls away and heads into the bedroom, accidentally hitting the dresser, the papers from the hospital falling to the floor.  
  
"You can't run from everything!"  
  
"I can try, you're doing well!" We're just going in circles and she spins to confront me as I follow her. "WHAT do you want?"  
  
"I told you it was over!"  
  
"What?"  
  
. . . For a minute it was like she had no idea what I was saying. And then I see that we went off topic, she wasn't talking about Lauren anymore. My eyes fall on the hospital papers and I step forward.  
  
"She's going to be okay, Dana."  
  
**  
  
She's not. She'll never be okay.  
  
"I know."  
  
"No. You don't," he says firmly. "She IS going to be okay."  
  
And I can't lie anymore, to him or myself, "NO! She's isn't! She has a problem she doesn't care about! She blacked out in the STREET and she doesn't CARE! She's not okay; she'll never BE okay! And I CAN'T be like her. Her whole life fell down around her and she couldn't handle it . . . and I couldn't help her."  
  
"You were just a kid."  
  
I snort a laugh and look at him. "You sound like everyone else when they hear a sob story like that. You were just a kid; it wasn't your fault. But I can't help the feeling that tells me it was, and you can't stop that, no one can. And now, I'm not a kid anymore and I still can't help her."  
  
"When she wants the help she'll come to you."  
  
"And until then?" I ask quietly. Sitting next to me he draws me close enough so I can put my head on his shoulder and I silently thank him for it.  
  
"Until then you have to wait."  
  
". . . That's the worst advice ever."  
  
He chuckles softly and holds me closer.  
  
**  
  
I think she feels better, after a couple hours of the Today show and orange juice. We sat in silence for almost ten minutes before she got up to turn on the TV and sat on the cushions, I picked up the papers, went to get dressed, ate a bacon sandwich, and got us something to drink before I sat right next to her again.  
  
"Katie Couric is kind of gummy," she says after a while. "You know, when she smiles."  
  
"Oh. Yeah."  
  
"You got to admire her morning perkiness," she says slumping a little and stretching out her legs. "You don't have that."  
  
"Says who? You had breakfast." I catch the clock's numbers and sit up. "My mother's leaving, I said I'd drive her to the airport, up for a ride?"  
  
"Sure, you can pick up my present on the way there." She gets up, smiling. We aren't avoiding much anymore, just moving on.  
  
**  
  
When we pull up in front of the very posh-looking hotel Rena is already standing there with a smile and a suitcase. I get out to greet her and kiss her cheek as I step aside.  
  
"Don't even think about it. You have the front seat."  
  
"No, really, you take it, you can talk with Harry."  
  
"I insist," she tells me firmly, already opening the back door and getting in. A little unsure I go in the front seat again to see Harry's expression clearly telling me you can't fight her. "I'm just so happy to see you two talking."  
  
Her pointed look at Harry makes me open my mouth to ask something smart- ass, but I just snap it shut instead and look on with a smile.  
  
We pull out and head for the airport, hitting a slightly busy intersection along the way. The car is on, the radio off, but no one is speaking. Rena seems happy enough to enjoy the view and take joy in the fact that she doesn't have two little whiners bickering, but Harry keeps looking in the rearview mirror, almost about to say something before cutting it off.  
  
Until finally he asks.  
  
"How was your visit?"  
  
Did Harry just say that in a completely sincere way?  
  
I'm a little too busy gaping at him but I can imagine Rena's huge grin as she answers. "Why, it was wonderful."  
  
"Good, I'm glad to hear that," he says, forcing a smile into the mirror that, though extremely put-on, is for a good cause. You see that? When he does stuff like this . . . it's completely his fault I'm always confused about the friend line, stuff like this makes me want to jump on him.  
  
"We had a lovely little talk about the old days, and the places we used to hang out . . . He asked about you," she reveals in a way that's so utterly hopeful you want to rally around her in making Harry care. But I don't want to be caught in between the ongoing battle of love and hate for an absentee- father Senate, besides, I have major issues in that department anyway and might come out on Harry's side.  
  
"He did . . . that's . . ." I know he want's to say 'pointless', but he searches for something else. "Pointless."  
  
Okay, guess he didn't find something else.  
  
Rena reaches out from the back seat and pats his arm. "At least you're trying, dear."  
  
**  
  
My mom's leaving. Kinda makes me want to pout, but at twenty-eight, and MALE, I'd say that's not an option. I was never a Mama's Boy, but there were a lot of years we had to stick together, every once in a while, when I see her, that comes back to me.  
  
She's hugging Dana, who sat in the seat and did not complain that we didn't pick up her gift yet. But being that she probably doesn't want my mother to know she just turned eighteen either makes a lot of sense.  
  
"Now I want you two to visit me! Harrison never brings his girlfriends to meet me unless I drop in on him unexpectedly. Case in point," she jokes pulling back from her hug. Before I can correct her on the 'girlfriend' comment she goes on. It'd be for Dana's benefit anyway, I don't care who thinks we're together anymore, I'm trying to reach that goal anyway. "And I want you to meet Charlie, too, he'll love you. OH! We'll go sailing!"  
  
"I don't know if I'm normal enough to see a psychiatrist socially," Dana jokes.  
  
"But what about the boat?" I ask her encouragingly. "Nothing says 'vacation' like motion sickness." Or a boring, droning man named Charlie.  
  
"Oh hush!" my mother reprimands. She comes over and gives me a tight hug as she they announce her plane and she sighs. "I do miss Charlie, but I hate to leave you all the time."  
  
"I am a grown-up," I remind.  
  
"In age or maturity?" she questions, picking up perfect on the unintentional set-up before a smile and a couple light taps on my cheek before it rests there. "Call me, my darling offspring, and I mean often."  
  
"I will."  
  
"Says the man whose answering machine talks to me more often!"  
  
"Mom--"  
  
"And Dana," she goes on, reaching out to hold her hand. "You'll call me too, won't you? Let me know what's going on in your lives."  
  
"Of course I will," she smiles sweetly, before looking at me, her eyes momentarily bright. She's beautiful. They call her flight again and she glances up at the speaker.  
  
"Oh, there's the announcement again. I better go. I love you," she tells me before kissing my cheek. "And I absolutely adore you," she tells Dana with another quick hug. Then pinching her cheek she adds, "And I'm still positively jealous of that skin!"  
  
With that and a smile my mother leaves. 


	19. Better

Justine - This IS an 'R' fic, dammit! LoL. It was actually an NC-17 fic, but I had to take it down due to FF.Net standards. Which means you should probably put your sex-filled story back in the 'R' section ;)  
  
So, after many reviews bitching about only few kisses -- this chapter should start things off nicely, actually. Besides, you thought that scene in the beginning with Dana in Harry's room after her shower was PG-13? I was all about the watchin', and the touchin' - unfortunately about a little cryin' too. Still though, not PG. :)  
  
Anyway, thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed! And I have another D/H fic posted now so check it out. Also, as long as we're doing shout-outs - DANA_POOLE_RULES! Where are you!? You wrote the best H/D and now the stories are lonely!  
  
**  
  
It's quiet in the car on the way back from the airport and I look at the window to watch the passing scenery.  
  
I want to visit my mother. But I won't, she wouldn't want me there and I'm not going to go against her wishes. Harry's one of the luckiest people I know.  
  
"So what do you want to do for your birthday?" he asks me. I loll my head to the side and smile.  
  
"I want to go to work, I need the money."  
  
He's quiet and looking straight ahead, "What else do you want to do?"  
  
I want to ask him whether he was thinking of how bad the job was or picturing me stripping for him. Yeah. Right . . . It's just that kiss between us that he initiated - the one I choose to forget - keeps popping up to put bad thoughts in my head. He's glancing at me so I better say something.  
  
"I want to get my picture taken."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I want birthday pictures, HAPPY birthday pictures."  
  
"Sounds simple."  
  
"Then you haven't been paying attention," I snort. I want to be happy for my birthday, even if it's a front, the fake kind of happy. Maybe a couple of years from now I'll look at the picture and think, wow, that must have been a great day . . . then I'll remember . . . maybe pictures aren't the best thing. "Where are you going?"  
  
"To get a camera," he answers as he pulls into the parking lot of a drug store and gets out. "Do you need anything?"  
  
"Liquor?"  
  
"Something else?" he asks with an arched eyebrow.  
  
"What's with the twenty questions? It's not my birthday if I have to keep changing my answers," I grin.  
  
He just shakes his head and goes inside.  
  
**  
  
The greeting card isle is filled with a cornucopia of sappiness. I wonder if they make a card that says something like 'I hate you, Bastard. Why did you have to be born?' I can think of a few people to give that one to.  
  
I don't find one that seems right for Dana; everything seems prepackaged and predictable. No, nothing would go well with her. I was never one of those people that found the perfect emotion put in print for whomever I was shopping for.  
  
I choose a camera, some disposable thing the clerk hands to me with a dull expression that tells me he's been having an exciting weekend, the kind that mornings don't agree with. When I pay and head out I take the camera out, unwrapping it. I push the little winding thing and I lift the camera to my eye and push the button, she isn't smiling, but she's definitely amused, her head tilted to the side.  
  
"Smile. It's your birthday." She gives me a fake offering and I take another picture. She's damn photogenic.  
  
**  
  
"Okay, this one," I announce. Birthday pictures aren't such a bad idea.  
  
We're on our second camera.  
  
It was after the third red light when Harry turned and took the third picture of me sitting at a red light that I confiscated the camera by snapping it from his hands and he reminded me this was MY birthday thing-to- do. And it was. So at the next red light I snapped a picture of him. Who'd have thought he wasn't opposed to crossing his eyes for a camera?  
  
We've been driving around for a while, stopping occasionally to take pictures of each other. I'm going to keep the one of Harry standing precariously next to a statue of a man on a horse and staring in the same direction - squinting into the sun. I don't know why, it's just a keeper.  
  
It's led to me pointing at a tree in a park I'm going to have my picture taken on. Why? It's my birthday.  
  
"Help." I order and Harry puts down the camera to brace his hands for me to climb up onto a thick branch. My cut hardly burns at all anymore, it must be the good vibes, it doesn't even hurt. I try to situate myself on the scratchy surface and manage to lay back slightly, a hand gripping the wood beside me, my position forcing one foot against the tree and my other leg bent at the knee. All in all it's not a bad pose. I smile and he's already poised to take the picture. He snaps it and moves closer.  
  
"Too good to just take one," he tells me and takes another. It feels good, my birthday feels very good, and even though I could probably get down myself I carefully turn until I'm sitting above him, my calves positioned in front of him. He snaps another picture and I'm smiling again.  
  
"Help?" This time I ask and it could be considered flirtatious. I even consider it that.  
  
He drops the camera onto the grass and holds his hands up; I scoot to the edge and slowly slide until his fingers curl around my hips. I put my hands on his shoulders and he moves to wrap his arms around me as I slide down his body. Can we get some mood music here? Who said classic romantic moments don't happen in real life? Well, I did. But I was wrong, I guess.  
  
**  
  
She's inches away and I think, if I just moved forward a little bit I could get her to kiss me. But I don't move forward, she does and she kisses me without any help, her mouth hot against mine as I feel her fingers in my hair.  
  
I don't think she planned on it being this . . . much. So much that it makes me want to push her against the tree and wrap her legs around my waist . . .  
  
I have to grab her hip tightly so I don't lose control and do it, but she doesn't seem like she'd mind if I did.  
  
**  
  
His mouth is amazing, and I'm learning that fact over and over again . . . the feeling of kissing him is so powerful that the fact we're in the middle of some park with heat rushing between my thighs, and I think I'm moaning. This is indecent, and even with my mother's words and accusations of my moral standing echoing in my head I can't stop myself . . . I don't care when my back hits the tree.  
  
**  
  
When I feel the rough wood against my burned hand, I know I've gone too far, but it doesn't hurt enough to stop. Then again I'm not going to have sex in a park in broad daylight, so when my mouth pulls away to go to her throat I don't try to pull back, just press her closer.  
  
"Harry," she moans . she's MOANING in my ear. Fuck.  
  
**  
  
He pulls away and looks at me. But I don't know why he stopped.  
  
"What?" I blink. And then blink one more time.  
  
We're in a park. Outside.  
  
Fuck.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yeah," he agrees.  
  
"So . . ." I start, clearing my throat. "Lunch?"  
  
". . . Yeah."  
  
**  
  
I don't move my head as I lean over the plate, but my eyes look up to stare at Dana across the table. We walked back to the car in silence and came here in silence; the only sound was the tapping of my finger on the camera I picked up from the ground. Why did we come here? Because if we went home . . . We'd do something we'd regretted. Last night was our first - well, second kiss - and we already were practically dry humping against a tree. It was too fast.  
  
I take a drink of water, more to do SOMETHING than to just sit there in this silence. I think she picks up on it because she keeps glancing at the glass and me. When the waiter comes we order and resume just . . . sitting there. Dana attempts to rearrange the flatware before just sighing in disgust and slamming down a fork.  
  
"This is absurd! I'm not going to just sit here anymore and deny everything that's happening between us, I'm not going back to that!"  
  
Surprisingly, everyone around us doesn't care about our loud conversation and, at this point, I wouldn't care if they did. I nod and go to pick up my water, but she puts a hand over mine.  
  
"We're adults, Harry. We need to talk about it."  
  
"So let's talk," I agree.  
  
And we sit there quietly.  
  
**  
  
The lemon chicken comes and I still can't think of anything to start the conversation off with. Finally, when he takes a drink of his water I grab his wrist and put it back down.  
  
"I was thinking, that doesn't mean I gave up and you can start ignoring everything again."  
  
" . . . I was thirsty."  
  
"Oh." That's embarrassing, but I smile at it because it breaks the unsure feeling and I take a drink myself.  
  
"So what do we do, Harry?"  
  
"About us?" he asks simply as he takes a bite of his steak. He says it so nonchalant, I haven't even wanted to think of the term 'us', I thought he'd go running for the hills and now I'm sitting here considering it.  
  
"I-I guess you can put it like that."  
  
"I could," he affirms with a look of half confusion/half obviousness.  
  
"Yeah, you could . . ." I clear my throat. "So, about us . . . to take an overused phrase - that is perfect for this situation - we are two consenting adults."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And, obviously, we are both attracted to each other."  
  
"I'd say."  
  
Dammit. "How can you be so nonchalant about this?!"  
  
"I'm not being nonchalant, I'm being decisive. I want this, I just want to know if you do."  
  
"If I said no could we still live together? Be friends?" He doesn't say anything and I know the answer. "Me neither."  
  
I don't know another way out, I can't be around him and not want to be with him, to think of him in a romantic way, and the kicker is I can't NOT be around him. Maybe I'm painted into a corner but it seems like a nice place to be stuck.  
  
I take a deep breath and look at him.  
  
"Harry. I know what I want for my birthday."  
  
**  
  
She wants me for her birthday. That said, from Dana's mouth, is the MOST arousing thing I've ever encountered. As soon as she is half way through with the words I was doubtful I'd be able to get up very quickly. But I sure as hell will try.  
  
"Dana, what are you saying? Exactly."  
  
She has that little smile on her face and puts her and on mine. "Let's just go, Harry."  
  
**  
  
I get up and start towards the door and hear him behind me by the time I reach the entrance.  
  
"I had to pay," he whispers in explanation and puts a warm hand on the small of my back. The heat floods through my body from that one touch. I can't believe this is really happening. But I'm not going to deny myself anymore of something that's there and real and happening. With all the horrible things that have happened to me, I'm not going to let this slip by.  
  
Before I know it we're in the car on the way to the apartment and neither of us makes a move to start anything. And the lull is not at all void of sexual fire that crackles between us, but it does make my muddled thoughts form.  
  
Is this a relationship? He said 'us'; does he want a couple situation? Do I? I want him and that's all I know all I can think of. Long ago this was my dream, to be with him, to have him bring up the idea of him and I together. But now . . . Am I just doing this to reach out to him because I'm in pain? And when the hell did I start tuning into the mentality of a talk show psychiatrist?  
  
I sigh, shifting a bit and catching his attention. It makes me anxious and the movement, paired with the images of him going through my head, causes heat to burst in my veins and center on my core. I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing him on top of me before I snap them open.  
  
The apartment comes into view and Harry finds a parking space in front. We still haven't said a thing and all too soon he's waiting for me as I go around the car and meet him. Has he done this before? Is this just an arrangement to have sex? Am I like someone he brought home once from a bar or a party? Am I like Lauren Davis when he gets horny?  
  
He takes my hand, casually, like he was just waiting for me, keys on one side, me on the other. There's no preemption in his action, it's easy, and it makes me more confused. What are we going to do? What is it going to mean?  
  
We head to the elevator and, as we wait, I look at him from the corner of my eye. Harry Senate.  
  
He's a man; I'm going to be with a man  
  
I'm not a virgin, but on some level maybe I am. It's been years, I was fifteen, and so was Louis Mona, the boy in my Civics class. I was stupid then, it was just experimentation, really. After three or four times, we were finished with the whole thing. I may not be a virgin by medical terms, but Louis wasn't exactly a sexual dynamo, he wasn't even a man.  
  
The door dings and we enter the elevator. We stand in silence again. And just when I'm wondering if I'm really going to do this Harry looks at me. And I look at him. And slowly, with his eyes falling to my mouth he leans down to kiss me.  
  
**  
  
By the time the sound indicating we made it to our floor rings, my tongue is swiping against hers inside of her mouth and she's moaning again as she grabs at my shirt. I feel her soft hair around my hand and feel her fingers grabbing the bottom of my shirt, then sliding under to touch my stomach, making me jump and wondering if she can feel my erection against her just then.  
  
Finally I have to pull away from her and we're both gasping as I pull her out of the doors, grabbing the frame before they try to close. I walk out with her beside me and I'm too distracted, not stalling until I get a couple of doors away from mine and see her . . .  
  
"Lauren?"  
  
** 


	20. No Birthday Wish Needed

Hard R ahead! Savor it, people, this story is almost over.  
  
**  
  
"Dana Poole?!" Miss Davis yells accusingly at Harry.   
  
This is the worst birthday ever recorded.   
  
I'm fucking sure of it!  
  
Harry look at me for a minute, probably trying to gain his head after stumbling out of an elevator and into hell. "What are you doing here, Lauren?"  
  
"I wanted to talk to you, I couldn't wait until tomorrow and . . . What is Dana Poole doing here?"  
  
Hoping to get my jollies screwing Harry, but you pretty much stuffed that down the drain.   
  
"What did you want, Lauren?"  
  
Her face is pink as she looks at me, then Harry, then me again.   
  
"I'd rather not discuss this in front of *company*," she states so rudely I can't help myself.  
  
"Actually, I *live* here." Reaching over I slip the keys out of Harry's other hand and go to the door, unlocking it and opening it. "Coffee?"  
  
She's stunned and it feels so good that she's stunned. Not because of years of her biased grading, but because she had sex with Harry. It's an incredibly whacked reason, yes. She wasn't intent on hurting *me* when she did it, but I don't care. Jealousy? Yes. Is that going to make me stop? Not at the moment.   
  
I walk inside MY home that I share with MY roommate and drop the keys on the table. Harry has to pick up on the territorial vibe I'm throwing around because he gives me a look that tells me I don't have to rub her face in it. He isn't going to lengths to stop me though so I back off with a slight smile and go to the kitchen for a drink.   
  
"So what is it?" he asks Lauren as she follows me with her eyes, still pink-faced.  
  
"Can I speak to you alone? I take it your new *roommate* won't object to that."  
  
"Not at all," I answer. "But then, the new *roommate* can understand English and doesn't need to be asked through a third-party."  
  
I think that was rather charming.   
  
I walk past and go into the bedroom, feeling great. A little malicious, but great.  
  
**  
  
I could be with Dana right now. But Lauren wants to talk.  
  
"Dana Poole?!" she asks again, shooting angry looks to the closed door.   
  
"Is there a point to this visit?"  
  
"She's a student, Harry!"   
  
"A *former* student of consenting age."  
  
"This makes it ten times worse!" she bemoans putting her fingers to her forehead and tapping.   
  
"What is going on?" I ask, annoyed. I don't want her back, I don't want a tryst, and I'm finished. I went back to her to forget what I couldn't have and now . . . now I'm incredibly lucky to have Dana. It wasn't like I was the only one trying to use sex as an escape. And now Lauren shows up once more . . . We used each other for more months than we had an actual romance, I don't want that.   
  
"I . . ." She sighs raggedly and looks at me. "I just thought we could work something out."  
  
"Lauren--"  
  
"Don't worry, I'm no longer under the impression that you care for me." Suddenly her face lit. "Is that what this is about? You want Dana Poole because we aren't together anymore? She was just an easy distraction?"  
  
She has that 'awww' face but I shake my head immediately. "No. And she's never an 'easy' anything. I'm with Dana because I *want* to be with her, not out of lack of options. I'm sorry, Lauren, but we've been over for a long time, and I think you know that."  
  
She looks at me, surprising me by the tears almost appearing. "I guess I do. I guess I knew it before I even came. I was just hoping . . . Goodbye, Harry."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
"I'll . . ." She doesn't finish and shakes her head walking out.   
  
It's over then. I breathe a sigh and look at the closed bedroom door. And I smile.  
  
**  
  
He knocks on the door before he opens it. That's pretty sweet . . . Ugh. If I become one of those women who coo over their boyfriends I'll be very upset.   
  
Boyfriend? Ten seconds ago I was worrying he was going to tell me he and Miss Davis were up for giving it another go.   
  
He looks in my direction and is smiling and I literally feel the relief flow through my body.   
  
"Things go well?"  
  
"Depending on your definition."  
  
"Still single?"  
  
"Depends on your definition," he repeats with a grin.  
  
I get to my knees on the bed and cock my head to the side. "I think that's a good sign."  
  
I barely finish when he's kissing me and it feels good. At this moment I can actually let myself think of him as, if I allow a little possessiveness, MINE. And because of that something in me is a little more calm, and I don't feel like I have to rush anymore. It's not that I don't want to be with him at this moment, it's just that . . . I don't want this to seem like a fling. If we do it today, on my birthday, it's going to feel like we just waited until then and everything will get weird.   
  
I pull away and look at him. "Harry?"  
  
"Yes?" He's so happy, I almost feel bad for saying it.   
  
"I think we should wait."  
  
Pause.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Really?" I ask with a grin at his response.  
  
"Of course. I'm not going to pressure you into doing something you don't want to, and if we did it today . . . I don't want you to think I was just waiting in the wings until you turned eighteen."  
  
"I don't think that," I tell him, moving closer and putting my arms around him.   
  
"But it's better we wait anyway?"  
  
I nod and smile a little. He seems agreeable, if not a little downtrodden, but so am I. Sex with Harry would be incredible, but maybe if we wait a little longer it will be making *love* to Harry . . . And not only on my side of the opinion.   
  
**  
  
She feels good in my arms. We've been laying in bed for a long while now, watching the television and I glance down at her every once in a while and she's genuinely smiling. The fact that I gave her a happy birthday is amazing. I should . . the camera.   
  
"I'll be right back," I whisper and she seems a little reluctant, which is kinda nice for once, but she let's go anyway.   
  
I head down and get the camera, forgetting it earlier because of Dana . . . Dana the surprise. I smile as I get back in the elevator and remember kissing her, remember holding her against me . . . The ding comes and reminds me who we saw after we got off and that's enough to sober me up.  
  
I enter the bedroom and snap a picture of her, just noticing me, a grin on her lips . . .   
  
She should be celebrating . . .   
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
**  
  
"Go where?" I sit up. He was off preparing a surprise, huh? I grin so widely I think it's impossible to have it grow.   
  
"Out."  
  
"Informative, really."  
  
"Just as I meant it," he answers as he goes to pull out some clothes.   
  
"How should I dress?"  
  
"Surprise me," he throws back as he heads to the bathroom.   
  
"Harry!" I laugh.   
  
He turns and smiles, "Dress nice."  
  
With that little hint he closes the door and leaves.   
  
It takes me less the five seconds to reach the closet and rip it open. And I'm sure if I choose something quickly it'll only take me ten to get dressed, but I need a shower.  
  
A shower.   
  
I hear the water running and I know that's what Harry's doing, wrapped up in a long . . . all . . . wet . . . You know, I'm the female, according to my mother I'm suppose to be *resisting* situations like this, not being happily drawn into them. Of course if that was true I'd have no sex drive, and I do, so the thought of Harry all wet in a shower is . . .   
  
I actually growl when I throw down the dress I was holding and smack my hand to my face. I can't handle this, and that little fact is so . . . stupid! I'm behaving like some wanton little harlot or something! Or I'm behaving like a woman who is undoubtedly lusting for some . . . Okay. Time to sit on the bed and wait and then take my own shower and not think of joining Harry in his. Right.   
  
I should think of Lauren Davis, which'll kill any urge imaginable.   
  
**  
  
I'm at the point where soap bubbles will pour into my eyes if I open them. When Dana steps into the shower it doesn't matter much.   
  
"Ow!"  
  
"Are you okay?" she asks, coming up against me and placing a wet hand on either side of my face. Yes, it's stupid to open them, but the male brain is dim when it comes to seeing a very nude female body.   
  
"Yeah, I'm great," I tell her scrubbing at my face. When vision returns I see her, Dana, looking up at me, her hair still dry and her smile wide. "What's goin' on?"  
  
Casual. Nice.  
  
"Mmm, nothing much. It was just that since you mentioned a surprise I thought you hid my birthday present and, well, gee, here it is." She reaches down and grabs my already-pleased manhood, making me jump back and almost hit my head.  
  
"Happy Birthday," I manage to mutter.  
  
"Thanks," she says sweetly, moving closer and taking one hand to slide over my chest. The mere action of thinking is becoming more and more impossible with her ministrations but, what the hell, I'll try.  
  
"What about waiting?"  
  
"It's overrated."  
  
"No. No, I don't think it is, see, we should . . . oh, okay." Focus isn't my strong point now, least focusing on speech.  
  
"Harry, we both want this, and . . . I really want this."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really," she confirms, dragging her fingers over . . . fuck. But I have to make sure she won't regret . . . damn.  
  
"Are you."  
  
"I'm sure," she singsongs, pressing her breasts against my chest and kissing my neck. I'm pretty sure that's a yes.   
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Sure," she whispers.  
  
**  
  
He kisses me again and it is SO very good that Lauren Davis herself could be standing there watching and I still wouldn't pull back. He's so wet and slippery and it feels incredible to run my hands over his skin and I think he's enjoying it too. I feel the water start to soak me and I hadn't even realized we'd moved to where I'm under the showerhead.   
  
He breaks away to drag his mouth down my throat, sucking on the skin and making my breasts tingle with the sensation it runs through my body. The man is a magic maker. If I could bottle him . . . hell, I wouldn't make a thing because I wouldn't want to sell one bit . . . Mine.   
  
Woah-kay. When he touches me lightly, slipping one finger against . . . Best birthday ever, BEST EVER.   
  
**  
  
I want to make this good for her, I want her to feel as good as I do, and it might take some doing because I feel insane with the stuff she's done. I managed to get us to the bedroom and her hair, her body is soaking wet and lying in my bed. Fuck, that's pretty powerful.   
  
"Harry," she moans trying to bring me closer as I touch her, it runs straight through me. Yeah. Feel good, I want you to feel so good.   
  
My hand is stroking her, touching searing, wet flesh. She's flushed and pursing her lips and trying to raise her hips up to help my hand. Damn. But I'm going to wait; I'm not just going to crawl between her thighs and . . .   
  
"Harry," she says again. She doesn't draw it out; it's short, breathy, like it took every bit of her strength to say it. And it's MY name. I should have done something before she came into the shower because the way this is going I'm not confident I'll last long. All the more reason to make her happy . . .   
  
I lean down to kiss her mouth before she bites it once more. Then her throat, wet from the shower and the heat we're creating. Her shoulder, dragging my lips down, licking her skin until I reach her breast --  
  
**  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
. . . My whole body is one giant match, completely on fire, I can't move at the moment and he's still . . . Hmm . . . seem to have lost my motor functions . . . His mouth is all over me, and then concentrated on the one spot that seems like the ONLY spot there is. Oh boy . . .   
  
How could . . .   
  
Right . . .   
  
I'm . . .   
  
"YES! Oh, please, keep going. Yes. Harry . . ."  
  
I'm . . .   
  
**  
  
She lets out a moan, her chest hiccuping as she does. On of my hands, still cupping her breast, is now locked there with her hand, her nails sunk into me. I don't move from my spot, and she seems happy about it. And I'm not too unhappy myself.  
  
**  
  
. . .   
  
Okay . . .   
  
. . . Okay  
  
My grip on his hair was tight, but he doesn't complain, he just makes an 'mmm' sound that reverberates through my whole body and makes me catch me breath. My hip tenses in the position it's in when I thought I'd never be able to use any muscle ever again. He pulls away panting a little, a matching set we are. I think I manage a grin, but I'm out of it, I'm sure he gets the picture. He comes up my body and every part of him is in the just-right spot, *every* part, and I'm so sensitive at the moment that even the slight pressure is making me lock my legs around him.   
  
"Feeling better?"  
  
Better?   
  
Smartass. Like always. And people wonder why I love him, well, *I* wondered . . . I think I got my answer. He's Harry. His thumbs meet my cheeks and I finally realize that my eyes are watery, it just felt so incredible, and frustrating here and there, that I actually cried. Damn and I said I wouldn't do that anymore, at least it was a _good_ reason.  
  
"Kiss me."  
  
"Birthday orders?"  
  
"Just kiss me!" I laugh and his grin meets my lips as he does it, tasting like sex. It jars me for a second, how mind-blowing this moment is. I'm so filled with everything right now I want to tell him that I love him, before, so that he doesn't think that I'm saying it because we're having sex and it's the heat of the moment. Do guys think that way? But I won't, because even if I am in love with him, he probably isn't in love with me, and I don't blame him. It's not mandatory the one you love has to love you back. Unfortunately. But his kiss . . . him . . . that's enough. I love him, and that's enough.  
  
For now I don't think of it, I just reach down to curl my hands around him and take him into me.  
  
**  
  
The way she kisses is unbelievable; it's better than . . . I don't know. Anything with her is better than anything else with anyone. And she wants ME and no one else. A year ago I wouldn't have thought in a million millennia that we'd be in my bed, at my place even. But she's not that person I knew anymore, she's a woman who's gone through too much and still manages to be considerate and strong, and love people . . . Like me.  
  
When she wraps her hand around me I jerk forward. I need a condom. I break away and pull it on quickly, wanting to get back her touch . . . her. I don't drop the rubber once. I come back to her and she's looking up at me with complete reception  
  
Now her hand is drifting down again and she's letting me have her, and it's even more powerful than you'd think. She holds her breath as I meet her entrance, wet and hot, and welcoming. I slide into her slowly and I have to grab handfuls of the pillow at the sensation. I don't want to rush her, but she's tight, and warm. Dana wrapped all around me, moaning just a little, low too.  
  
When I'm fully sheathed inside her I want to swear, like I do when I'm inside Lauren, but it's Dana, and all I can say is her name. Once, twice, then over and over when I'm moving, thrusting into her. Dana. Dana. Dana. Dana.   
  
"Harry!" I grit my teeth to concentrate as she speaks into my ear. Her back arches, hardly noticeably, as her fingernails dig into me, then she arches higher and she can't reach as well, leaving hot burns where her nails refuse to lift from my back. "More, more, more, MORE."  
  
She makes little noises, like whimpers into my ear, my name a desperate little breath among them, making me go faster. I want it good for her, like this, with her . . .   
  
**  
  
The feeling of him inside me is making my heart hurt, filling me up in every way. He's whispering in my ear, things that slip by so fast I don't catch them all. Words about how I feel, how he wants me, needs me, more . . . Beautiful things . . . Then kisses, soft and quick, then slow . . .   
  
I love him.  
  
I love him.  
  
**  
  
"Harry . . ." She's moaning softly, her nails still crossing over the lines she already made, making the pain pleasurable. "Now, Harry, please."  
  
The words are bouncing around in my head. Inside her, fiery, tense, now. Fire, tight fire . . . Dana.  
  
Now.  
  
Now.  
  
"DANA."  
  
**  
  
That 'after bliss' thing? I used to think that was such a crock. The men from the club hardly seem the types to stick around and cuddle. But Harry isn't one of them.   
  
I laugh, a great bubbling, uncontrollable laugh and I turn ever so slightly to Harry's face, half hidden in a pillow and still panting from the incredible intimacy we just shared. He smiles and pulls me closer.   
  
**  
  
Maybe it wasn't the most dignified or gentlemanly thing of me to do but it took a *good* five, long minutes afterwards before I thought I might be crushing her so I managed to make myself leave her body and fall to the side. One arm across her stomach and my faced half smooshed into the pillow I looked at her with a smile that was possibly the biggest I've ever managed, hell I don't think I've ever been this excited *after* sex since my first time. I must have been acting like an ass, like I conquered a mountain or something, but come on, I was with Dana, that's a hell of a thing. But she looked at my stupid grin, still breathing like I ran a marathon, and matched me for it. Laughing even.   
  
Sweaty and sticky, I sidled up to her body and she wrapped an arm around my neck, kissing me.   
  
"Happy Birthday."  
  
"So I gathered," she says before winking. "Seems pretty standard, like what I do everyday."  
  
"Really?" I question, taking care of after-sex necessities and tossing it in the trash.  
  
"Oh, yeah. In fact I plan on doing the same thing tomorrow. I enjoy a good routine," she hints.  
  
Pulling her close and stoking her hip she puts her head on my shoulder, already setting in. "I don't mind a good routine either."  
  
**  
  
I smile against his chest and close my eyes. This is what I needed. Him. I know he must be tired and, hell, I am too, I'm hungry too but there is no way I'm going to be able to leave this bed. If Harry wasn't a big enough pull to stay I think he rendered my legs jelly as well.   
  
A good routine. 


	21. Waking Up Happy

Sorry about the last crappy chapter, it got a screwed somewhere along the way, but all the punctuation is now fixed.  
  
**  
  
I blink my eyes open a couple of times and light's just starting to break. For a minute I don't know why I'm up and then I look at Dana. She's not covered up, there is no statically placed blankets to cash in on the allure of the moment, no, it's just her. Bare and Dana and . . . work.  
  
Son of a bitch.  
  
I pull out of bed and head to the bathroom, watching her as I go. The morning after, this is the morning . . . Wow. Big . . . big stuff. Coming back in I watch her again, but this time it results in me stepping on one of her sharp little hair things - it's worth it. I crawl back in next to her . . .  
  
The thought that I soon have to leave this bed to go to work does not fill me with any amount of joy. But the clock says I still have time and I'm going to spend it looking at her. Running my fingers through her hair and enjoying it when she moves even closer and sighs. This is good. Except for the crazy jumping going on in me . . . I thought I'd got over this stuff a long time ago. A woman is a woman, you have sex and it's just a thing, a relationship to last until you meet someone else. I never felt this afterwards. Yeah, I've wanted to stick around after sex before, but it was because I was tired, I thought I might get another quickie, I just felt like it at that moment. . . Not because my stomach was in knots and I just wanted to lay next to her and enjoy being close to her.  
  
Fuck. Let me call Milton, maybe we can go pick out some dresses for ourselves today.  
  
She blinks a couple times and looks up at me, her eyes hazy. "Mornin'."  
  
"Morning."  
  
"Mmm," she moans as she stretches her legs before sitting up and smiling at me. "'Scuse me."  
  
Her voice is soft as she rasps it and she climbs over my body carefully, walking to the bathroom as I watch her. Unbelievable. Dana Poole. Unbelievable.  
  
**  
  
The water flows over my hands as I clumsily clean them; I'm more occupied by looking at the smile stuck on my face. I spent the night with Harry Senate.  
  
The term 'Wheee' comes to mind.  
  
Coming out of the bathroom, I stand in the doorway for a minute, looking at him staring at the ceiling, and then his eyes falling on me. I walk over to him, not losing one inch of my grin as I swing a leg over him and settle on his stomach.  
  
"You looked pleased."  
  
"I am," I answer. "*Very* pleased. You don't look so bad either. Uncovered buried treasure, or recently discovered a cure for something?"  
  
"I got you," he says like he's pointing it out to me.  
  
"'Cause you're a winner," I wink prodding his very fine chest, the one I can now touch and not pretend he had rabid, mass gatherings of lint everywhere. Wheee.  
  
"I am," he tells me in a show of utter macho bravado, but I let him pull me down for a kiss anyway. Okay, so *I* am the one that leans down for a kiss. Same outcome.  
  
"Tell me you don't have to go to work today," I command in a way I consider sweet when I pull back a little.  
  
"I really wish I didn't have to," he says, barely clearing my lips to say the words.  
  
"That's what they always say, let me start reciting the 'Romeo and Juliet' dialogue. 'It is not the nightingale --" I start badly.  
  
"I'd rather get into our routine . . . little too forward?" He gives a truly searching look that matches the question and I look at him with a questioning expression of my own.  
  
"We're naked, and I'm sitting on top of you," I slide down, feeling him against my very rapidly excited self and sighing. "I'd say you have a good chance."  
  
**  
  
I'm in a good mood as I sit in the teacher's lounge, an incredibly large amount of excellent, GOOD mood. I love my life. If being its bitch is this good I don't mind so much at the moment. Mostly cause I just got laid - which always elicits a good mood - but to be with Dana . . . that's were the extra, complementary adjectives come in.  
  
"Hey, Harry."  
  
"Marilyn. Thanks for taking my classes yesterday. How are you today?"  
  
"Ooo, someone's in a good mood. Satisfactory weekend I suppose," she smiles.  
  
"Better than I would have thought." And I'm smiling. I never smile like this, consistently, after having sex. Ever. I'm not one of those 'I just got some' people.  
  
"Someone got some," she assesses without opinion. I still hold out hope it's not my 'I'm an ass' expression that made it obvious. The way she's nonchalantly pulling out a bottle of water and not really looking at me, I can tell she wants to ask me something. It's on the tip of her tongue and -  
  
"Harry? Is there really something going on between you and Dana Poole?"  
  
Score.  
  
"If I say no?"  
  
"I wouldn't believe you."  
  
"And I'd be lying," I comply.  
  
That surprised her.  
  
"Really."  
  
Now or never, get the spine and remember my balls. "We're living together."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"But I bet Lauren already told you that."  
  
Her form of revenge, I'm sure.  
  
"Actually, she did call me last night, she was pretty upset. Can I ask how long?"  
  
"It didn't start out like this, we didn't just sit around until school ended and then automatically start something. After she graduated I never thought I'd see her again." I look at her and shake my head. "But she's eighteen, and not my student and . . . and that's pretty much all anyone wants to hear around here."  
  
"I'm sorry," she apologizes. "It's not my place to say anything against it and . . . I wouldn't if I thought it was."  
  
She kind of finishes that with a half smile.  
  
"Thank you." I mean it. Too many people try to butt in my life whenever it came to Dana, looking back, even when I said I didn't care what they thought, I probably did. Hell, I _did_ care. But now I don't, I just don't. But, to have a friend say they wouldn't lecture me either way - not that I'd listen - it's actually kind of pleasant. A change of pace.  
  
"No problem. But now you can't make those cracks to Milton," she reminds with a grin as she gets up and head to her first class.  
  
"I never pinned my job on Dana."  
  
"Not exactly," she muses.  
  
Damn.  
  
"I'll figure out something." I will, cause Dana and I didn't got down to the basement for mid-day nookie. 'Sides if I ever got that dreamy look . . . no. Milton's probably busy somewhere picking out china patterns.  
  
**  
  
"Thank you." I hang up the phone, feeling uneasy and still happy. My mother's doing better. The nurse was really nice and encouraging even . . . She'll be out tomorrow. Ease must reach all the way to my toes because I put my hand to my face and want to laugh.  
  
She'll be okay.  
  
I jump off the crates and practically hop into the kitchen. My muscles, freshly sore, actually feel good with the pull. It reminds me of last night. And this morning. I was going to make Harry breakfast this morning, but we stayed in bed until the last minute when he was actually pulling his shirt on when he left and had his shoes untied. I laughed so hard that he did too, all the way until he was out of the door.  
  
And now I'm smiling a lot. All the way through my shower, many fine memories there, all the way through dressing, my make-up, and all the way until I looked at the phone and knew I had to call and see how my mother was. And I found the extra key today. It's a positive sign. Now I'm smiling again. While toasting waffles. I think I've got it bad.  
  
I don't mind.  
  
Grin.  
  
I come back in with my breakfast and pick up the phone again. I've missed a lot of work and I don't want to get fired, especially now that I have a dwindling bank account and I'll be staying here, long-term preparations for rent are a must now. When I dial, my fingers stall a little. Somehow, after last night, this job seems so . . . personal. Too intrusive when it used to be something I walked through.  
  
I try to shake my thoughts away, and I start again, listening to the ringing.  
  
"Diva Divine. This is Ginger speaking."  
  
"Casey!"  
  
"Dana!"  
  
"I'm so glad you're on hostess duty!" I should have called her yesterday but - "I should have called you yesterday, but my mind was all cluttered."  
  
"What happened? Is your mom okay?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, she's going to be fine, she broke her leg and . . . She's going to be released tomorrow."  
  
"Oh! That's so great."  
  
"Yeah, it is," I sigh. "It's . . . hard, Case, but Harry, he's . . ." Damn, I trail off to smile.  
  
"That's who you're living with now?"  
  
"Yeah, it is," I say, happy as hell. He's actually the guy I'd been gushing to her about for a long time, but she doesn't know that.  
  
"I'm so glad, Dana. Grainy was even worried. Can you believe it, looking almost sad - course Chastity offered him a free dance to cheer him up."  
  
"Of course. So am I fired yet?"  
  
"Aren't you listening? Grainy was almost sad - you still have a job," she laughs.  
  
"So if I'm up right away when will I be put on schedule?" I say, although my voice becomes faint toward the end.  
  
"Are you sure you want to do that?" she asks softly.  
  
"Yeah . . . yeah," I shrug. "I . . . I need the money, Casey."  
  
I hear her blow out a breath and there are a few moments before she talks again. "Probably tomorrow. You'll either come in around the after-work rush or later. Grainy figures you're going to need the cash . . . the person form the hospital kind of let it slip they needed to find you for insurance purposes."  
  
"Fuck!" Does everyone have to know my business? The awkward feeling that is still heavy in me gets pushed away with anger. Mostly. "You can put me on, Case, call me when you have my hours, okay?"  
  
I sit on the crates and shift. My attention drifts from the phone to the piece of modern art I sit upon. . . I'm going to making some extra cash tomorrow, I have to . . . Hmm, I'm sure I have enough to cover it as is . . . I'm pretty much going to be broke anyway and I don't want to play it safe today, I want to surprise Harry . . . other than, you know, breaking the last one. It makes the uneasiness fade as my thoughts turn better.  
  
"HELLO?"  
  
Oh. Phone. "Huh?"  
  
"I asked if I was supposed to call you on your imaginary cellphone."  
  
"Oh. OH! Right. I never gave you . . . my new number." I smile again. MY new number.  
  
Grin.  
  
**  
  
Lunch. I'm starving. I even confiscated a bag of pretzels from Thomas Jand and ate a couple before I gave them back. I hit the teacher's lounge and look around; knowing Marilyn probably has some cheesy-cracker-type-whatever somewhere. As I search I dig into my pockets looking for change or something, I left my wallet at home. Didn't have time to worry about it when I was simultaneously trying to convince Dana to have sex with me again by kissing that spot on her neck she really likes, right at the pulse point. She likes it better when it's bit. I'm lucky I left with clothes on.  
  
"Miss me?" a voice asks.  
  
Kevin.  
  
"Kevin, welcome back, how was your vacation?" I ask, abandoning my search momentarily.  
  
"Beautiful. Water, sun, and--"  
  
"Don't say 'fun', quoting the brochure leads me to believe you got rained out."  
  
"Uh-uh. I spent my time drinking things with umbrellas in them and taking scantily-clad women out," he boasts proud and satisfied as he drops onto the couch.  
  
"Lost your virginity then?"  
  
"Coupla times," he counters. "It was heaven."  
  
"Welcome to hell, the devil's not here at the moment, running errands."  
  
"Eh, you have to mention Guber," he bemoans as I start to look for something again. "I was so happy I almost forgot about him, I got back so late last night I didn't want to call so I figured I'd drop by and see you guys."  
  
"Well I wouldn't let Guber see that shirt, it's against dress code, in fact I wouldn't let *anyone* see that shirt. Is that . . . pineapple?" Neon green pineapple, all over the shirt. "Are you sure you didn't hang out with the retirees down there?"  
  
He just smiles and basks in his post-vacation happiness.  
  
"Hey, boys," Marilyn greets, opening a cabinet and pulling out some ranch flavored cracker things. I knew it. I go over and, as she pulls one out, I stick my hand inside to grab a handful. "Harry! How about some manners?"  
  
"Thank you?"  
  
She rolls her eyes and goes to sit next to Kevin. "How was the vacation?"  
  
"Sand, sun, and fun," he cheeses out. "I walked along the ocean's tide at sunset, laid on the beach, and took in the sites. It was heaven."  
  
Why is it that every time a guy relates the story to a woman - especially one he's been interested in, the whole tale gets a new spin? I really shouldn't . . . but it's how I am . . .  
  
"Did he say 'laid on the beach' or '*got* laid on the beach' because he was just telling me--"  
  
He shoots me a look but Marilyn just tilts her head. "It was his vacation, Harry. Like you aren't having a perfectly fine time here?"  
  
She doesn't say it to insinuate anything, just makes her point, as she gets off the couch. But Kevin *has* to pick up on it. Fantastic.  
  
"Back with Lauren?" he asks. Marilyn gives me an apologetic look and holds out the crackers in penance. I take them and turn my back to him.  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh, so someone new, huh? Anyone I know?"  
  
Marilyn has the grace to shift a little and clear her throat before announcing she has to go, leaving me in the situation she made. Thanks, Marilyn.  
  
"Yeah. You know her."  
  
"So who is it?"  
  
"Uh. Dana, actually, Dana Poole."  
  
"DANA POOLE?" That's to be expected. "You and Dana Poole? How'd that happen?"  
  
"We met up, and we got to talking." We did, and I doubt she wants him to know that she's was in trouble. "And . . ."  
  
"What? One thing led to another?"  
  
"For lack of a better, or more original, phrase."  
  
"So you and Dana Poole, huh?"  
  
Crunch. These ranch things aren't palatable. But I've probably eaten half the box.  
  
"Yep." Might as well get it out now. "We're living together."  
  
"So . . . are you in love with her? I mean she was a student, Harry." I have a feeling this is going to be a running revelation.  
  
"She *was* a student, she isn't now and no, I'm not in love with her."  
  
"So you're using her?" he asks incredulously.  
  
No! "No! I'm not using her."  
  
"But you're living together? That's pretty serious, Harry."  
  
"It's not like that, she's kind of like my roommate."  
  
"Who you happened to be, what? Having sex with? Sounds like using."  
  
"I don't just have sex with her!" How did I get into discussing this? It's my private business - but I want to make validly. "I have feelings for . . ."  
  
Wait. What?  
  
. . . Fuck.  
  
Fuck.  
  
I'm . . . Fuck. I said I wouldn't get involved in the beginning, but I'm more than involved. I'm so involved that I may be . . . No. No, that's moronic to even consider. I'm not falling in love with Dana. No. I said I wouldn't, I always said I wouldn't, and I'm not. I want a relationship with her but, I'm . . .  
  
I don't fall in love. I never have and never will. I doubt the general truth of it. My parents were in love, that's like a Scared Straight program. No, this is just. Dana and I, together for now . . . Right.  
  
"Harry."  
  
Fuck. Kevin. "Huh?"  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Am I . . . Yeah. I am. Because this is just me, and Dana, and that's it. "Yeah. I'm fine."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You were saying?"  
  
" . . . Dana and I are just Dana and I. That is it, and it doesn't need any other explanation anyway."  
  
Yeah.  
  
** 


	22. Its, uh, Great

**  
  
It's kind of puffy. And really green . . . and it was extra to get the delivery men to bring it over right away, by the time I was off the bus and on my way up in the elevator they were arriving with it. The new couch. The puffy, green couch. Hmm.  
  
But it's soft, and you could fall asleep in it's verdant pillows, and after sitting on crates it was pretty much a siren's song. Leaving the couch I go into the kitchen and check the steaks in the oven, the recipe on the back of this flavor packet thing said these were 'Winning Recipes'. Hey. Look. I'm nesting. I like it. I wonder how long it will last . . . Those steaks look kind of dry.  
  
**  
  
I open the door, it's warmer in here than the summer temperatures outside, and the smell of food welcomes me. That's pretty nice. "Dana?"  
  
She's in front of me in a second and completely gorgeous, her hair in a pony tail and she's wearing this summer dress, yellow, that only comes mid thigh and is strapless, a little bow in the center of the top, that's pretty nice too. I reach for her and she comes to me, kissing me and making me grab her side because that's really, really pretty nice.  
  
And it's hard to think of what we are now. I went from not wanting this, to wanting to be together, to being together, that's it. There is no couple, or 'us', it's Dana and me. And that's all we need . . .  
  
I think.  
  
Cause there's a couch in the living room.  
  
"A couch . . . a green . . . couch. That's great," I say as my stomach flips and I see this for what it is . . . a milestone in a couple relationship.  
  
"You like it? I know it's kind of . . . puffy . . . but that's just because it's comfortable," she says brightly. She moves to sit on it, a little unsure with her choice, biting her lip, not noticing I'm silently screaming my head off. She looks really good siting there, but I'm not thinking about that now. I'm thinking that I'm going to kill Kevin for bringing all of this up.  
  
"It's great."  
  
Uh-oh, she's looking. Maybe she did notice. "Is something wrong? It's too puffy, isn't it? I'm going to hurt that salesman. I was just on a whole furniture high and . . . we can return it. I don't . . . know . . . Harry? . . . It's not the couch is it?"  
  
"No. Yes, it's the couch." It is in a way . . . a way that avoids the subject, but we said we wouldn't do that. Shit. We even have couple rules. Or . . . not that it always means you're a couple with those . . . What? I don't know what the hell I'm thinking.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Dana . . .  
  
"Dana . . . you bought a couch and . . . and we . . . you bought a couch."  
  
And she looks at me, then it, then me . . . and she gets it.  
  
Maybe I didn't mean it though, if I told her that may--  
  
"I bought us a couch." She says it softly before shaking her head and getting defensive. "I bought something for us, something big, and a reminder. I get it . . . this is a thing that people in relationships do -- Real relationships," she says flying up from the couch.  
  
"Dana, wait."  
  
"No, I get it," she says snatching her purse up. "I'm a roommate, one who lets you screw her, but a roommate nonetheless."  
  
"I didn't--"  
  
"Forget it, I'll be back later. And don't even THINK we'll be christening that thing!" she snaps as she is out the door, slamming it behind her . . .  
  
I should have just said I liked the couch.  
  
**  
  
What an asshole! I should have known, I was so stupid! All that stuff about wanting us to be together, and *I* was the one worried about the couple stigma! He was probably just suggesting that we be good fuck partners. Hope he enjoyed it because that's the last time he'll EVER have sex with me. Yes. SEX, not 'making love' or something sweet. Just sex. Sex. Sex! That's it.  
  
"Sex!" I stamp my foot and it draws some attention from the people milling past the store display of porcelain dolls I've been staring at for the past ten minutes. Though my yelling 'sex' probably made them look more then a delicately heeled strappy sandal.  
  
Jerk.  
  
And I'm in love with him.  
  
What am I going to do?  
  
Fuck. I stand against the brick wall next to the glass display window and look at the people morosely as they pass. Fuck.  
  
If I was sixteen again I could just go shopping with the disgusting surplus of money I made. It wouldn't make me forget, but it'd get me distracted. But I blew what money I could spend on that couch - if it was for shopping for *me* I wouldn't have touched it! I would have told myself to save it, but since it was for Harry and I, our first thing . . . Bastard. Even if I was sixteen I'd more than likely be busy trying to get a glance at 'Mr. Senate'.  
  
How did I get into this so deep? It was never love then, just a crush. I fell for him then because I was so young, stupid, in awe . . . Frankly; he was hot, and ideal. But, after everything that had happened, after the illicit kiss was found out and it all sucked . . . I saw him, the real person . . . and I truly fell in love just a little, that tiny bit of infatuation-love. Then it was over, I thought I'd never see him again, but I did. That little love started to build . . . he had to go and be all wonderful, over and over again. And then be a jerk too. He's imperfect, I know that now, and . . . he's Harry.  
  
I love him.  
  
Bastard.  
  
**  
  
The phone rings and I dive for it in a very uncool way, the couch's big damn pillows threatening to drown me.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hi, this is Casey, I'm calling for Dana."  
  
"Oh. She's not here. I'm Harry, can I take a message?" She's giving the number out . . . Because she lives here. I'm such an idiot. This has been progressing, because I let it, because I *wanted* it to.  
  
"Please. Tell her that she can work tomorrow night, work rush. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll tell her."  
  
"So I guess you're her new roommate, huh?" She probably thinks this is discreet.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Cause she said she moved. I mean, new phone number and everything, so, you know."  
  
"Yeah. I'm . . ." I'm what? I don't know what to say.  
  
"Hey," she says softly. "I just . . . uh, I wanted to say that I'm glad there's someone there for her. With her mom, you know?"  
  
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I'm glad too."  
  
The phone is quiet and she clears her throat before talking again. "Just, uh, give her that message, work rush. Thanks, Harry."  
  
"No problem."  
  
The phone clicks and I stare at it. They want her to work now, with her mother in the hospital? But the way she spoke . . . I don't know. That smell . . . Fuck. Dinner.  
  
I got it, and - in my infinite wisdom - pull out the thing WITHOUT a damn potholder. AGAIN. This time I manage to drop it on the oven door before I get burned though. Shit. And I miss Dana. She's pissed, really pissed and I don't know when she'll be back, and if she'll be coming back with every intention to move out all of her stuff. SHIT.  
  
Boy, those steaks look bad.  
  
**  
  
After two mochas, I have three napkins shredded into tiny pieces and settled on the coffeehouse tabletop with a swirling pattern inside. I gather them all again and start dropping them into the ashtray when someone takes it upon themselves to sit across from me.  
  
"Hi." He has blonde hair and clear blue eyes, his features a cut and model- like. He seems like one of those open people who'll tell you all about themselves in seconds.  
  
Not my type.  
  
I give him a tight smile and keep gathering up the napkin.  
  
"You know I normally don't do this."  
  
Yeah. I'll bet. "Yeah. I'll bet."  
  
"No, really," he says, trying to quell my suspicion. It won't work. And I don't care anyway. "I saw you sitting there and . . . I wanted to say hi."  
  
"Okay." His face looks a little disappointed when I look up, I guess I'm being a bitch, but what do I look like, a Love Connection contestant? No. "Look. I'm . . ." No, I'm not sorry this isn't going the way he wants. I don't want it that way. "I know you expected this to go better, but I can't help you out there."  
  
"Maybe I can buy you another mocha?"  
  
"No, I'm fine thanks." I already have to pee.  
  
"It'd be no problem, I--"  
  
"I said no, I'm fine." I have that edge on my voice, the one that works in the club when guys try to come onto me. Once I'm off the stage, I'm off of work.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says. Good intentions faded, and kicked in the ass by me. "I just saw you here and you were so pretty and I thought we could talk. I didn't . . . relationship, right?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're with someone, right?" Am I? I just stare at him and he shrugs. "Great guy, right? Falls at your feet?"  
  
Yeah, that's Harry. A regular foot servant.  
  
I quirk my eyebrow in response but ole' Bashful Guy just looks at his drink.  
  
"I just, of course, you're involved." He's not very confident, even for coming over and sitting with me. See, Harry would handle this way differently . . . Damn. "So, this great guy that does everything for you," he's so meek, like he's already seeing me and this imposing someone in his head and pitying himself on why it never works out for him. "Bet you're in love and everything, huh?"  
  
In - love. Am - I - in - love?  
  
"Yes."  
  
Completely, uttering, and damn sure *hopelessly* in love.  
  
Damn.  
  
He nods a little.  
  
I want to go home. 


	23. Meaning It

Yes, I know they're mad AGAIN. But, dammit, they just wouldn't play nice. I'm a sucker for a happy ending though . . . After this there's only two more chapters left :(  
  
**  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Aw, I was hoping Dana would answer."  
  
"Shut up, Kevin."  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
I sit back on the couch and the gigantic pillows try to swallow me again. I wonder how they got the couch through the door.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You're oh-so-believable."  
  
I sigh, getting pissed, "Dana and I had a fight, okay?"  
  
"About? Maybe I can offer some advice."  
  
I'm quiet for a while, but this is Kevin. He'll see my point. He's a man- whore that sees the difference of a 'couple' and 'two people together'. Now that I told him how it was he'll get what I mean.  
  
"She bought a couch."  
  
"What was wrong with the old one?"  
  
"It broke."  
  
". . . and you'd rather sit on the floor?"  
  
"No. She bought a COUCH. And it's OUR couch, it's like . . ."  
  
"A relationship?"  
  
". . . Yeah."  
  
"Granted, I was with Beth eight months when she bought that toaster and freaked me out. Remember Beth?"  
  
"Yes, I remember Beth, and you were an imbecile for freaking out, you were together eight months and it was a TOASTER," I reiterate.  
  
"So we were a couple, and that was one of those things."  
  
"*YES*," I growl out. He's getting to be incredibly annoying.  
  
"I think you just answered your dilemma."  
  
What? "What?"  
  
"Harry, I saw you today, smiling. That I-just-got-some grin and I've known you five years, you've slept with a hell of a lot of women in that time. And bragged about a few too. You didn't brag about Dana. That's a landmark."  
  
"No. You don't get it. It's too fast. And it's a couch!" Moron! Stick up for me!  
  
"Let me ask you a question . . . After you had sex for the first time with Dana and you were there for a while, what did you do? Honestly."  
  
"Went to the bathroom," I bitch.  
  
"After that."  
  
". . . I laid down next to her and . . ."  
  
"Why didn't you leave?"  
  
"I . . . I wanted to stay with her, next to her while she was sleeping . . ."  
  
"Want to express more emotions, girlie-man?"  
  
"Screw you, Kevin."  
  
"See, the *correct* answer - the one you used a couple of times before - was 'It was my apartment, where was I supposed to go?' and not all the syrupy stuff."  
  
"She's my roommate," I manage half-heartedly.  
  
"And you would still have went out before she woke up, just so she got the message. It's not that hard to figure out - when it's someone else," he added.  
  
"Shit."  
  
"Them's is lovin' words," he coos. Asshole.  
  
"Kevin?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Click.  
  
**  
  
I stand outside of the door and look at it; I cock my hip out and put my hand on it, and then fix my best glower at the slab of wood. I'm standing here staring down a door with a death glare. Take that. Why? I don't know. I'm in love, in simplex terms it means I'm officially insane.  
  
I sigh and relax when I realize my stupidity; with a shake of my head, I reach out haggardly and turn the knob, walking inside as I do. Harry's head rises and he looks up, standing when he sees me.  
  
"Hey," he says softly.  
  
THUNK.  
  
I think my purse against the wall says everything. I go to the kitchen and look at the burned steak before going into the cabinet and pulling out a box of Frosted Flakes.  
  
"Dana, I--"  
  
GULOP. I drop the carton milk onto the stand as I get out a bowl and make my dinner.  
  
"Can't you even talk to me?"  
  
Silent treatment is the worst. I hate it. It's terrible. So I look at him and take a spoon, crunching into my food as I walk past. I glare at the couch and go into the bedroom shutting the door. He catches it with his hand, must not be the bad one.  
  
I turn on the television and set the bowl down, kicking off my shoes to climb onto the bed. By the time I'm getting another spoonful, he's watching me.  
  
"You're being ridiculous."  
  
And you ripped my heart out. Asshole. Hence the very worst thing I can think of. I eat more cereal.  
  
"Dana!"  
  
"You know, now that we're roommates we should have some rules," I suddenly strike out. "Rule Number One: Don't bring anyone home to screw, you want to have sex do it at her place because I am declaring this apartment completely . . . sex . . . free." I say the words as slowly as I can drag them out. I'm not using sex as a weapon, I'm not 'cutting him off', I just refuse to have sex with someone who sees me as an easy alternative. I sure he's a little miffed about that.  
  
"And you?" I knew he couldn't help but ask it, even if he's absolved to not argue with me. Yep, Harry would have to know.  
  
"I'm going to be sex-free too." I'm not playing that game, he knows I care about him, and I know it now, right in my face, full color. I'm not going to go have sex with someone just to make him jealous.  
  
"Dana." He sighs like he shouldn't have asked that. Hell, maybe it shows he cares. HA! "Listen to me."  
  
"Rule Number Two: No sleeping in the same bed. You can have the couch because I'm not going NEAR it."  
  
His hands are on his hips. He looks really good today, a pair cargo shorts, and a white tee shirt, simple and . . . not the insight I'm trying to apply to my anger. He's kind of smiling, he noticed me looking. Bastard. "Why can't I get the cushions?"  
  
"Because of rule Number Three: No sleeping in the same room," I shrug, crossing my legs and taking another bite. He has this funny smile on his face, I might have seen it a few times, here and there, and this morning, but it didn't seem so funny then. It's not his sex-smile, that one is burned into my mind, all teasing and . . . I have to shift a little. Gotta remember Rule Number One. This smile is different though, kind of . . . soft. Which is odd in itself.  
  
"Anymore rules?"  
  
"I get the first shower. No more surprise shower vists either. Rules Four and Five."  
  
"You're the one who broke Five."  
  
I look at him and blink. "Sue me."  
  
"Rule Six?"  
  
I should make it 'no cooking for each other,' but I love that he does that and I'll take any small thing I get. Pathetic. Besides, I'm just learning so maybe I'll make something that makes him yark. Ha.  
  
"I need to think about it."  
  
"I need to know them if I'm going to break them."  
  
I drop my spoon, the milk in the empty bowl splashing just a little as I scowl at him. "They are unbreakable."  
  
And he just smiles. That one, that one smile that . . . Rule Six can be don't look at me like that, but . . . but he probably doesn't know it, and it probably doesn't even mean anything.  
  
I really don't want to cry right now.  
  
"Rule Six: We're just roommates," I say briskly as I put the bowl on the stand and take my hair down.  
  
"Well, Roommate," Ouch -- even if he doesn't know that it hurts -- ouch. "You got a message."  
  
Hospital? "Hospital?"  
  
"No. Work. Someone named Casey called to tell you that you have work tomorrow, 'work rush'."  
  
"Oh. Okay."  
  
"I was going to tell them -"  
  
I know what he's going to say, but I cut him off, my voice seems a little quieter to me. "I wanted to work. I called them, and I need the money."  
  
He doesn't say anything. I know he doesn't like me working there but he's getting used to it, he's respecting my decision to do it. Figures, by the time *I'm* feeling unsettled about working there, he's fine with it . . . Partially, anyway.  
  
Harry, eternally set in his ways is changing a little for me. Dammit. It makes me soften a little.  
  
Bastard.  
  
"How is your mother?"  
  
Ow. Double up on the sore spot.  
  
"I-I called the hospital. My mother's going to be out tomorrow," I say. Even if I'm angry I can't handle that by myself.  
  
"That's great! Are you okay?" It's a stupid question, but just what I need at that moment. And that hurts the worst. I just nod and get up, hurrying to the bathroom and shutting it behind me before I cry. Not in front of him, not anymore.  
  
**  
  
I hear the shower running and I know she's crying, and I know she didn't take any clothes with her. I get up and drag the television into the living room. I can easily sit on the bed, waiting for her to come out, maybe in a towel, and point out that she's being silly about us . . . Us . . . but she doesn't need me to be an ass now.  
  
Us.  
  
I sat there for a couple of hours after Kevin called. And the son of a bitch was right. I thought back to all the women I've gone out with, or just had sex with, not as many as Kevin thinks, I'm sure, but . . . I never felt the way I feel with Dana. I don't mean the sex, well, just the sex. I mean that just being around her I'm happier that I am with anyone else. Even when it's shitty, and everything's up in the air, it's a hell of a lot better than many of the 'good' times I spent with others.  
  
Stuff like that kind of sneaks up on you. It's not like you go along and know your having the best times you've ever experienced, it comes to you at once, and you know. Know that Kevin was right. Know that I'm in a 'couple' relationship . . . because I wanted it that way. Because I cleared that space in the closet, and I introduced her to my mother, and went with her to see hers, staying next to her as she filled out every damn form. I kept trying to assure her it was over with Lauren, I stopped seeing her as plain Dana and her name became this crazy word that meant all these amazing things about how wonderful something was. I admitted my whole relationship - yes, RELATIONSHIP - to Marilyn and, fuck, Lauren - I laid it right on the table to her. I couldn't even see it myself, and I laid it out for Lauren.  
  
Dana and I are a couple. I just have to remind her of that since I screwed everything up. And . . . fuck. And feeling . . . I think I could be, maybe . . . fuck.  
  
**  
  
Hours have passed since I ran into the bathroom and Harry's been in the living room while I lay in the bedroom. Breathing in the scent of our - NO - his bed. I've gotten to be pretty pitiful.  
  
Last night I was having the BEST orgasm I've ever had. This morning I had three. And after each one I was pretty spent, doing all that work myself, I have to do it over and over again and it's NEVER that satisfying. Harry gets me floored with one. Bastard. Now I'm aroused, my nipples uncomfortable against the matching blue tank top of the sleep set.  
  
. . . Harry.  
  
I want to moan it out, or cry it out, but I won't. Jerk. Rule Number One. And Six, we're just roommates. I get up, walking over to the doorway to lean against it and watch him watch TV on the poofy, green couch. He looks over and smiles, not the soft smile, but something like it, close to it.  
  
"'Sopranos' are on." I look at the television and see Tony ordering some guy to kill another, with the aid of a lot of swearwords and a jabbing pointer finger. I look at him and start to walk forward but stall, looking at the couch. I shake my head instead and go back in the bedroom.  
  
I read for a while until the words blur into lines and I rub my eyes, tossing the book aside. I shut the light off and toss the sheet over me as the fan whirls a lulling sound. The room has a glow of the television, the blue playing through the doorway and lighting up the room just a little until I hear Harry turn it off and come into the bedroom. My back to him I hear him undress, it's silent for just a second before the bed creaks as he leans across it.  
  
"Dana?" he says to the dark room.  
  
"Hmph?"  
  
"Can I sleep next to you? I won't do anything."  
  
I squeeze my eyes shut and stay perfectly still. He's waiting. "No, Harry."  
  
He doesn't say anything but the bed squeaks as he gets up and he I don't hear him walking back to the couch.  
  
"Can I sleep on the cushions?"  
  
. . .  
  
. . .  
  
. . . I know the couch is comfy, I almost passed out in sheer pleasure with it.  
  
"You'll be more comfortable on the couch."  
  
"No. I won't."  
  
Rule Number Two, no, Three . . .  
  
"Sleep in here then."  
  
When he tells me goodnight I don't respond, trying to will myself into unconsciousness instead.  
  
**  
  
I hear her trying to control her breathing, and I put my hands up. Fuck, maybe I'll cry. Fuck, I'm turning into some emasculated simpleton, but it hurts when she's upset. It hurt before, but now I know why. She's Dana.  
  
The woman I'm in love with.  
  
Fuck. I don't even mind it.  
  
. 


	24. Over It

**  
  
I mumble something when I wake up; something left over from my dream that I can't remember anyway. The clock is glaring at me, telling me it's not time to get up so get my ass back to sleep, instead I sit up, throwing off the sheet as I climb out and almost step on Harry.  
  
He's on his back; hair messy like he's been running his hands through it . . . it looks like when he woke up yesterday, after _my_ hands were through it. I love him. I get up, angry with him for yesterday and trying not to remember last night. I move into the living room, planning on the Today show or something but the couch stops me. Stupid couch, Harry doesn't even want to sleep on it. I veer into the kitchen instead and start some coffee.  
  
I told him I'd have coffee everyday if he let me be his roommate, but . . . things happened and coffee wasn't so important anymore. I heard him moving around and . . . I wonder if he looked to see if I was there? He stumbles out of the bedroom, messy hair, stubble, a pair of plaid-printed boxer shorts, and a morning erection.  
  
"Mornim," he grumbles.  
  
"Rule Number Seven: Wear clothes at the table," I say with a bite so he doesn't see the way I look at him. He sighs and reaches out for my hand just as I'm setting down a coffee cup.  
  
"Dana . . . I'm sorry."  
  
**  
  
"Yeah. You should be."  
  
O-kay. Didn't expect that one. I apologized, and I'm serious. I . . .  
  
"No. I said I'm sorry."  
  
She drops the cup the inch to the table and jerks her hand back. "What the fuck do you want? A cookie?"  
  
"I guess that's no breakfast then?"  
  
She rolls her eyes and gets a box of Count Chocula, dropping it onto the table. "Eat up."  
  
"Dana, talk to me."  
  
"We did talk, you said enough for the both of us." She goes back to going here and there in the kitchen with her little short-tank top combo.  
  
"I didn't say the right thing."  
  
"Yeah, it sucks when you ruin things with your roommate/screw-buddy."  
  
"That's not what you are!" I yell. That stops her cold and she looks at me. I see some of the fight go out of her and she sighs.  
  
"Then what am I, Harry?"  
  
I look at the tabletop. How do I say this? I've never said it to anyone besides my parents - and my father only heard it when I was a child. I hear her shift.  
  
"I get it."  
  
"No, it's . . . I was just . . . it's hard to say."  
  
"Just tell me! I can't take the confusion anymore, we just finished this and I don't want to start it again." She's crying. I hate it when she cries.  
  
"How do you feel about me?"  
  
She breathes, shaky. She pulls out a seat and sits down.  
  
"Harry, you . . . You are the person that's always there for me. You've been my White Knight and you've been a jerk - though you probably didn't know it, and it involved you being with Miss . . . Lauren. It hurt seeing you like that and I tried to ignore . . ." She takes another breath wiping her tears away and my hand travels across to meet hers. "I was almost over this infatuation, you know, it used to be just a crush and I just thought you were really hot . . . Then I saw you weren't some made-up fantasy. I know you aren't perfect, Harry. Once I realized that it was like it changed . . . You're still pretty hot though." She laughs at that.  
  
"Thanks . . . Now?"  
  
"Now the fact that you have flaws, you are who you are . . . I'm in love with you, Harry. You, and not some thought or ideal that I wanted, you can be a compete ass sometimes and I'm in love with you . . . and you can be the most incredible person I've ever met and I'm in love with you . . . How do you feel?" She snorts a laugh out because she thinks I'm going to reject her.  
  
She's beautiful. She's always beautiful. "I'm in love with you."  
  
Her head shoots up and she stares at me with and shakes her head. "No, you aren't."  
  
Huh?  
  
**  
  
He's saying it to make me feel better and that's a fucked up thing to do. If he doesn't love me he doesn't, he shouldn't have to lie.  
  
"Yeah, I do," he tightens on my hand and looks right into my eyes. "Trust me, I was kind of clueless to it myself. I never wanted to fall in love, Dana, and I never thought it was an issue to anyone I was with. A lot of women have ended a relationship angry me because I didn't feel like they did . . . and there's nothing I can do about that, because I never really understood it, not really. I didn't want to anyway. But now . . . I know why they were upset. I love you and the thought of you not loving me back makes me feel like I'd . . ." His eyes fall to the table and I reach to lay a hand over his forearm.  
  
"Harry."  
  
And when he looks up at me his eyes almost look . . . glassy. But not really, like if you remembered it later you'd automatically dismiss it, like the light was playing tricks.  
  
"I love you, Dana. I don't do this, talk about how I feel, I just don't, so you can believe me when I say it. I'm in love with you. I love you . . . I love you, Dana." . . . He's serious. "Fuck. I slept on the FLOOR last night because I couldn't sleep in bed with you."  
  
"I'm sorry," I whisper. He has so much raw emotion right now that . . . "Harry."  
  
I get up and he pushes the chair out and without thinking I straddle on his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. It's hard for him, that's obvious, someone that is so skilled in getting other people to open up and he's pretty freaked out by doing it himself.  
  
"I love you," he tells me, his words on my throat.  
  
I smile.  
  
**  
  
This feels . . . different. I don't share my feelings, that's not me. I don't do that. This is why I stole cars as a teenager, I didn't talk about how I felt, I acted out. I don't do this.  
  
"I love you, Harry."  
  
And she makes it worth it. She pulls back, a soft smile as she stokes my face. She leans in and it's extraordinary to have her lips on mine again. I love her.  
  
"Break Rule Number One?" she asks, kissing me again.  
  
"Yeah," I tell her, even thought I don't remember what Rule One was.  
  
"I love you."  
  
**  
  
I undressed him in the bedroom, he was only wearing boxer shorts, but he seemed to like it. I was going to try to focus on him, but he undressed me without my being aware of anything but his mouth on my neck on that one spot that I love when he bites. And then his kisses moved lower until they were all over and . . . Harry was late for work.  
  
We spent almost an hour together before the alarm went off. And we hadn't even gotten to everything yet. I was just discovering him when the alarm went off much to Harry's chagrin; it's broken now.  
  
Then the answering machine started with Guber's calls wondering where Harry was. After the fourth one we finally decided we couldn't spend all day in bed - it wasn't a weekend . . .  
  
We have plans this weekend.  
  
"Shirt?" he asks, coming out of the bathroom, his hair wet as he scrubs his hand through it. All half-dressed and . . . Harry. Wheee.  
  
"Don't know," I say. He looks at me in said shirt and smiles, it's *that* smile. I've seen it a lot now. That's his 'I love you' smile. Took me a while to figure it out. He walks over to me and curls his fingers into the cloth of the Yankees jersey I wear and slides it off of me. He kisses my lips . . . That's . . .  
  
"I love you." He says it first and it means a whole hell of a lot. "You're beautiful."  
  
Compliments from all directions. He lays on top of me and I'm very glad I didn't bother to put anything else on because he feels so good on top of me.  
  
"I love you," I tell him quite happily as I kiss him.  
  
**  
  
"Guess you and Dana made up," Kevin says as I walk into the Lounge on break. "Love that grin, latest style?"  
  
"Shouldn't you be at home?"  
  
"And miss my dearest friends?"  
  
"You are such a gossiping old woman."  
  
"Whose advice works, apparently," he says proudly.  
  
"So you made me realize some stuff."  
  
"That you were an imbecile? That I'm always right? That--"  
  
"I get it," I say pulling out a bottle of water. "And . . . thanks."  
  
"Oh, Harry, I am *so* touched right now."  
  
"Jackass."  
  
"Lucky bastard."  
  
"Hey, Harry," a voice says. I whirl around to see Lauren standing there with an attempt at a smile firmly in place.  
  
"Hey, Lauren."  
  
"Kevin, how was vacation?"  
  
"Sun, and . . . fun . . . I have some things to do," he says with eyes darting between up.  
  
"No, don't leave. I'm just here to pick up Marilyn for lunch." She shifts from one foot to another while Kevin sits back down and I crack the cap on the water. I take a long drink and it's quiet before Lauren approaches me. "Harry, can I talk to you?"  
  
My look must not seem to be nice because she steps back a little. "I don't know."  
  
I don't think I want to hear her complain about Dana, in fact I know I don't.  
  
"Just a minute and . . . it's not about . . . everything." She looks at Kevin and I cross my arms.  
  
"Yeah. Okay."  
  
We walk out into the hall and she sighs. "I know . . . we didn't happen the way we--"  
  
I start to shake my head and she revises herself.  
  
"It didn't work out how *I* would have liked. But it's over and . . . I know that. We have to work together, Harry, I just hope we can be cordial to each other."  
  
"I never had a problem with that, Lauren. I wouldn't mind working with you on anything, besides, our issues shouldn't effect the school anyway."  
  
She seems like she just remembered that and nods. "Right, that's right. So . . . we're okay?"  
  
"Sure." I guess so. I never had a problem to begin with.  
  
"Good," she grins. "I'm really glad. I mean with Dana and everything, you had to have realized it was a shock, I mean, it's *Dana*."  
  
I kind of laugh and shake my head. She always puts her foot in her mouth. "I don't want to hear it. I'm with Dana, not the student, the woman, and I don't want to have to defend that. I shouldn't have to."  
  
"Yes, you're right." Yeah, I know. "Sorry."  
  
"Hey guys," Marilyn calls out cautiously. Her eyes scan us over and she looks at Lauren. "You ready?"  
  
She smiles tightly and nods just as tightly. "Yeah, ready."  
  
They walk away, Marilyn giving a supportive look as she goes, I head back into the Lounge.  
  
"What was that?" Kevin asks.  
  
"Quit asking for gossip!"  
  
"Come on, it's my vacation!"  
  
**  
  
This couch isn't that bad. It doesn't go with anything in the apartment, really, everything else seems like Harry has had it forever, but it's comfy . . . Ooo, there's that nesting thing again. I look at the clock and my mother's been released by now, at least according to whomever I spoke to this morning.  
  
I can hope she isn't going to the bar right now, but I'm not going to fool myself.  
  
But I can hope.  
  
"Dana?" Harry smiles. I tell you, new relationships, just seeing him there . . .  
  
"Hi." I meet him with a kiss, long, lingering, incredibly delighted - reminding him that we didn't finish this morning.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Look at you," I kid lightly. "Mr. All about the Emotion."  
  
"Comes naturally."  
  
"I love you." Look at us open people. Crazy.  
  
"So I'm thinking, how bout we break rule Number . . . what's the shower one?"  
  
I grab him by his shirt and smile. "Does it matter?"  
  
**  
  
We didn't make it to the shower, but the couch needed to be marked anyway. It's big enough to lay on without too much of me going over the edge, nice. Dana's on top of me, one knee on the couch, the other braced on the floor and *naked*, stunningly naked. She's smiling, all that hair spilling over me as her hips hover at my erection. I think she's out to kill me.  
  
She kisses me with that smile and I manage to slip a hand up to rub into her slick sex and she moans, closing her eyes and moving her hips. Fuck.  
  
The phone rings and since it's right next to us she jumps a little before laughing. We aren't getting it. I pull her down, kissing her as I manage to roll us over on the couch - it doesn't really match anything but I think it's my favorite damn thing next to the bed, and the shower . . . and the wall next to the bedroom.  
  
Unfortunately, with Dana's hand over mine, I'm a little distracted, more so when she reaches down to grab me. I jerk forward, somehow hitting the table with my foot and unhinging the phone. DAMMIT.  
  
Dana struggles up and looks a little hazy, picking up the receiver and trying to clear her throat before she answers. "Hello?"  
  
I slump forward, but just for a minute, her breast too much of a distraction to stay interrupted.  
  
Suffice it to say I'm surprised when she accomplishes putting a hand over my mouth.  
  
"It's so nice to hear from you, Mrs. Droken . . . Rena."  
  
Nothing a man appreciates more than a call from his mother during sex.  
  
She pushes slightly on my mouth as I groan out my annoyance. "Harry? Yes, he's here. Sure."  
  
She holds the phone out to me but I shake my head and push it away. Persisting, she holds it right up to my ear, but I don't say anything. She throws her head back onto the cushion under her with a silent laugh before looking at me, reaching up and -  
  
"OW!"  
  
"Harrison?"  
  
Wily minx. I rub my nipple that she savagely twisted and lift my eyebrows in implication as her laugh becomes steadily less quiet.  
  
"Harrison?"  
  
"Yeah. Mom. I'm here."  
  
"I told you to call, but I suppose you forgot your dear old mother as soon as she's out of your eye range." I struggle to sit up and Dana sighs a little, getting up and walking past me with a smile as she heads into the bedroom. I reach for my shirt, covering myself because, well, just because. "So what do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
"I meant to call, things just happened."  
  
"Well, I suppose I'll forgive you if you tell me you were romancing Dana," she hints. Kevin and my mother would make the best gossip partners - Ooo, did you hear about so-and-so? Why NO, tell, tell!  
  
"Actually . . ." I can hear her grinning over the phone, I swear.  
  
"So my look was right?"  
  
"Yes. You were right." I'm a broken record lately.  
  
"I just knew it, you two make the most lovely couple. Roommates? Phftt. All that stuff at brunch, too, oh, Harrison, I knew it'd work out. Let me talk to Dana."  
  
Dana standing stark naked in the doorway, tilting her head.  
  
"She's busy, Mom. Bathroom."  
  
"I can wait."  
  
Ahhhhh . . .  
  
" . . . Really, really busy, Mom."  
  
She doesn't say anything but then she chuckles softly over the line. "Oh. I see."  
  
No, don't see it. The last time you saw you were trying to be mother *and* father, I didn't relish my first sex-talk.  
  
"I gotta go. Bye, Mom."  
  
**  
  
When Harry comes into the bedroom, I look morosely at the clock.  
  
"I have to get work."  
  
He winces first, then sits on the bed, then flops back and puts a hand over his face. I reach over, stoking his chest, running my hand further down before stopping myself, it's not fair. To either of us. Getting up I go into the living room, finding and pulling on my clothes.  
  
When I come back in, he's still on the bed, half-leaning against the wall. Still without a stitch of clothing, and looking at me . . .  
  
"What's wrong?" He's silent and I already know. "I'm not thrilled about going to work either, Harry."  
  
That's an understatement.  
  
"Quit?"  
  
"And live off of you? Sure, who needs a pesky paycheck? Wouldn't want to pay those overdue bills - adds character to the mailbox."  
  
"Dana." Jealousy. Plain and simple. "I hate it, you know."  
  
"I know," I say, climbing onto the bed and laying next to him. "But it's just a job, Harry."  
  
"I know," he repeats in a mumble. "It's just that once I've seen . . . you . . . it's kind of hard to know other guys are too."  
  
I sigh. Don't really have an answer for that one.  
  
"I hate it."  
  
"It's just a job," I repeat. "And I'm cleaned out, my bank balance is scary."  
  
"We could send the couch back," he tries.  
  
"That would be just wrong, no on wants a couch we had any kind of sex on. 'Sides . . . it's a good couch now," I play. ". . . I love you."  
  
"I love you too. Which makes it really hard to see you do this," he says quietly.  
  
And the way he says it . . . Ugh, he's going to make me lose my job! I understand what he's getting at, it was the same thing I've been thinking over lately - Privacy. We're together now and even if it's a job - the kind you disconnect your self from - it's like after that intimacy it should be just he and I seeing each other. It's silly, with today's outlook, anyway, but that's how it feels. I wouldn't exactly jump for joy at him shaking it for every Tina, Dina, and Sally.  
  
Dammit.  
  
"It's a job." Great defense. "Just a job."  
  
It is. I know some of the girls love it, and some even get turned on being on stage, it was never like that for me. I got up there, smiled, turned a couple of times, got the money and that was it . . . I sound like one of those monkeys that dance to accordions.  
  
And now I've begun to view it differently . . .  
  
I sigh raggedly and lay my head on his shoulder.  
  
"I've got to go."  
  
I get up and go to the bottom of the closet, pulling out a pair of my work shoes. His gaze locks on them and I dangle the stilettos from my fingertips. They're glossy pink, a thick base and break-neck heel. He's never seen them before and I smile. He likes 'em.  
  
But I'll bet he'd like to be the only one who sees them.  
  
. 


	25. Happily Ever Start

Ah. This took forever to write, and a while to get it around to posting too. ;) This is the last chapter. *sigh* If you liked it, let me know, leave a review. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.  
  
**  
  
She wouldn't let me drive her; we both knew the possibilities. If I would drop her off, if I would go in. Then I'd watch the woman I love, and feel like puking because I'd feel so depressed. This whole thing, feeling stuff strongly, is new, and it's throwing me. I'm thinking the masculine 'Me man!' part would come out and I'd jump on stage challenging every guy, looking to fight. I even brought up the robbery, trying to sway her into letting me go along, but she informed me she wasn't going to be taking the back way anymore, and she's been working there two years, and that was the first real incident. She stressed that she was fine like *I* was being a fuss-budget. She even used the word fuss-budget. But I tried.  
  
What can I say? People in love are crazy. Now I am too. Doesn't seem like it though. It's not like I'm angry with Dana, though, I don't look down at her job anymore. It's just the fact of someone - not me - seeing her topless. It's more intimate then it's been with any other woman, even if that sounds senseless.  
  
But I've done that thing in the past, that thing where you like other people looking at the woman you're with and being envious - Never wanted her to get on stage and strip to increase that envy though.  
  
Getting up I head into the living room, pulling on my boxer shorts again and falling onto the couch. Everything's different now. That's strange, but the good stuff outweighs it.  
  
**  
  
"Brigitte!"  
  
"Grainy."  
  
"How are you? Didn't expect to see you in the pit for a while." He smiles a little and knocks my arm, trying to be supportive. He can be a nice guy.  
  
"What can I say? I love the work . . . no, wait, it's the money I love," I shrug. I look around and there is a pretty good crowd tonight, mostly businessmen coming in after a long day. They pay well. I can do this, it's just a job, even with Harry's words in my head. 'It's just that once I've seen . . . you . . . it's kind of hard to know other guys are too.'  
  
Dammit. I know.  
  
But I can do this. It's my job.  
  
"You should go back and get ready now, the schedules running pretty ragged tonight." I nod and head to the back room when he calls me again. "Hey, Brigitte? I . . . Ginger told me, and I'm glad your mom's going to be alright."  
  
I smile a little and nod once more. "Thanks, Grainy."  
  
"No problem."  
  
The stereo blasts out an eighties hair band whose songs must have been custom made for places like these. I toss my bag onto the table and start to take out my things. Maybe it's because I've been out a while, I'm just not comfortable right now, it's like I'm nervous but . . . I can't really pin down the exact emotion.  
  
Maybe it's because I was robbed.  
  
But I'm willing to bet it's related to the fact I'm head over heels in love.  
  
. . . When I say that, I can't resist adding that he's in love with me . . . Whee.  
  
I tend to get off-track with that lately.  
  
But I feel awkward. Yes! That's it, awkward . . . and I don't want to do this . . . I'm almost dressed, the very short, cleavage bearing, white dress with the shear pieces that cling to the bottom. I've run my hands through my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders.. . . in fact right now I'm snapping my shoes on . . . and I just want to take them off again - and not on stage. Ugh.  
  
Dammit and Ugh.  
  
I see what he's saying so clearly at this moment. Because it's the exact same thing I feel like.  
  
Dammit.  
  
But I do see it; I love him and I get that ultimate, private intimacy thing. I don't want to share one thing with anyone else . . . even my breasts. It's just stripping, but if I look at it closer . . . I don't want anyone else seeing me without my clothes. No one but Harry. Before it was a job, now I just don't want to.  
  
And when I don't want to do something . . .  
  
The gloss clinks to the table top and I stare at my reflection, dramatic eyes, shiny mouth . . . completely reluctant expression. I've always been a private person, and now that I'm with someone I want to make certain things . . . our stuff.  
  
I sigh and stand up.  
  
But I can do this, I've done it for a while and it's my job . . . I sneak over to the stage area, peeking out from the thick, black curtains as best I can without being seen. They're all out there, loosened ties and dollar bills . . . I don't want them to see me topless, I only want Harry to . . . Words like those, in this business, are career suicide.  
  
Fuck.  
  
I never felt so connected to someone as I've felt in the last few days. The question is . . . If Harry hadn't made me see how special and private that connection felt, would I still be doubting my job?  
  
. . .  
  
. . .  
  
I need to talk to Grainy.  
  
**  
  
I'm watching Tony again. Ordering a hit again. Must be a repeat, I think . . . I don't know, someone's always getting whacked . . . Whacked? I've been watching this show too much. I change the channel and settle my forearm on the stack of Teaching Plans I was working on before finishing them up faster than I thought and pushing them off for television . . . and aimless thinking of Dana.  
  
Ring.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Harrison!"  
  
"Yes, Mom."  
  
"Is this a good time to call? I figure I waited a long enough time."  
  
I put my hand over my eyes and lay my head on the back of the couch. My mother, ladies and gentlemen. "Dana's not even here, Mom."  
  
"You two didn't have another fight did you?"  
  
"No! I--"  
  
"Oh, good. Now I want to hear every little iota of when you figured out you were right for each other! Have you told her you loved her yet?"  
  
How is it everyone knew this, but me?  
  
"Yes."  
  
"OH!" . . . I think she's crying.  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"I'm going to have grandbabies! I knew it, as soon as you met the right girl."  
  
"She's not pregnant, and you're sounding like very stereotypical, ask Charles, I'm sure it's some kind of syndrome."  
  
"Stop that, I'm merely anticipating. You two are going to make beautiful children." Does she really *want* me to have an anxiety attack? Maybe that's the general idea, I can start hyperventilating, and it'd be a great opportunity for the Most Boring Psychiatrist in the World to talk me down and bond with me over my mental incapacity.  
  
"You have a long wait."  
  
"Accidents happen."  
  
"Mom!"  
  
She laughs uncontrollably.  
  
She keeps this up and I may really need Charles.  
  
**  
  
After being robbed I'm not too keen on going through the back exit - even if Grainy has been having the guys who work the door and bar take turns escorting us out - so I wait outside for the cab I called. It's a short ride until I get home and I'm still a little separated about my choice at the club I . . .  
  
Mom.  
  
Mom. Her leg is in a cast and she's leaning on a crutch.  
  
I pay the cabby without really looking and I hear him pull away as I walk forward. My mother is standing there in front of my apartment building looking hardly sauced. Almost normal. It's been a long time since she's been like this, if she could help it. How did she know where I lived?  
  
"Mom?" She looks at me like I appeared out of nowhere and her eyes dart over me. At that moment I'm glad I washed off the heavy eye make up so she wouldn't know where I've just come from. I glance down and it's one-twenty seven so if she tried she'd probably guess anyway. But she seems a little spacey. "It's late."  
  
She looks at my face, then my watch, and closes her eyes . . . God. When she opens them, God, she looks just like my mother. The one with the soft eyes that were happy most of the time, the tamed red hair I used to wish I had . . . Now it's frizzy and dry, her skin is sallow, her lips chapped and she's wearing a pair of cut-off jogging pants and a long-sleeved cotton top. Mom. She's still my mother.  
  
Her eyes look at me gently and she opens her mouth.  
  
"I don't want to see you again."  
  
And now I'm crying, great big hiccuping cries, feeling all the things I felt at the moment she threw me out. That I was useless, a whore . . . nothing.  
  
I feel the warmth on my arm and I wipe my face enough to look through the tears and see her hand on me. I see her face and it has concern, real concern like before she drank, and just after. God, I miss that.  
  
"I don't mean it like that, Dana."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"I love you." She tells me it like she's pounding it into my head, making sure I'll remember and that makes me cry even harder than when I thought she was completely rejecting me. "You are my only child, the only baby I'll ever have. I love you."  
  
"Then why don' . . .don't you want to see me?" I gasp. "I'm sorry I do what I do, but I don't anymore, you can see me because I don't strip. I stopped it. I swear, Mom."  
  
"It's not that. Hey. Listen to me!" I remember that voice and I do what she says. It was when she actually cared to discipline me and not just order me to give up something of mine to sell for liquor. "I don't want you to see me like this, Dana. I can't stop . . ." She shakes her head and her grip tightens as she eeks out painfully. "I don't *want* to stop."  
  
She opens her eyes and she's crying. "It's okay, Mom."  
  
"No it isn't . . .You're good, Dana, the only good thing in my life, no matter what you do you'll always be the only good thing. But needing to drink is too strong in me, and I don't want to deny it. See? I'm wrong. I didn't like you doing what you were doing, but it's because it made me see how much I failed you, you shouldn't have had to do that. . . The money . . . I turned a blind eye to it as long as you had money that I could steal, and when you refused to give me anymore . . . It made me see what I was doing. My God, may he forgive me, Dana."  
  
"It's okay, Mom. I don't care."  
  
She sighs, smiling a little and touching my cheek. "I love you, Dana, but don't look for me. I don't want to stop, and I don't want to drag you into it with me. You're too good for that, Dana. I was just too stoned to see it and when I got out of the hospital. . . I was thinking as I lay in that bed, in between dosages, I'm ashamed to say that otherwise I wouldn't have been remotely together. I always . . . you know I always make sure I'm out of it, and when it wasn't under my control . . . I begged any one I could for your address so I could see you one last time . . . I just want you to be happy."  
  
"We can both be happy," I tell her, I don't want her to leave me. "I love you."  
  
"Are you happy with that guy, Dana? The one you came to the hospital with?"  
  
"Harry," I whisper. She doesn't know anything about him, she doesn't even know he was my teacher once. It seems like so long ago . . . "Yes. I'm happy with him, I love him."  
  
She seems pleased with that. "I'm glad."  
  
"Do you want to meet him? He's just upstairs."  
  
"No," she says sadly. "I'm sure I already made a horrible first impression on him . . . I'm sorry, Dana. For everything."  
  
She hugs me and it feels so good. Oh, Mom . . .  
  
"Goodbye, Dana," she says as she pulls away.  
  
"Mom, please don't go."  
  
She doesn't say anything, just gives me a sorrow-filled little smile before turning away and hobbling away.  
  
I call her repeatedly as I cry fervently but she doesn't look back . . .  
  
**  
  
I hear her unlock the door over the whirling fan, the thud of her bag follows as she walks through the dark living room and into the bedroom. I see her form perfectly as she comes toward me and sits on the bed.  
  
"Hey," I say, reaching out to touch her back. She sniffles and I can feel the soft crying. "What is it? What's wrong?"  
  
I sit up quickly and wrap my arms around her. I flash back to the night she came home sliced up and my heart starts to race.  
  
"My mother," she cries softy.  
  
"What happened, Dana?" She just lays down, turning to face me and wrapping her arms around me.  
  
"I saw her outside and she told me she never wants to see me again." Anger surges through my system and I think she senses it because she shakes her head. "She loves me, Harry. Isn't that amazing?"  
  
As fast as my heart started to race before, that's how quickly it breaks now. How could she think anyone couldn't love her? Hell, *I* love her and I thought my capacity for that emotion was drained.  
  
"Of course she loves you," I comfort, holding her tightly.  
  
"I didn't know it . . . She told me I was the only good thing in her life, even after every . . . everything she said before . . . and she doesn't want to drag me down with her so she doesn't want to see me again."  
  
Her heart is shattering and I don't know what to do for her. I've done stuff like this before, students with problems; I know just what to say and when it's someone you love . . .  
  
"Dana . . . What do I do?"  
  
She just snuggles closer, sighing against my skin. "This is just perfect."  
  
I love her.  
  
The End. 


	26. Epi Peeking In

Epilogue - Eight months later.  
  
I eye it critically, going around one way, then the other. I guess it was his turn to surprise me . . . They brought it and . . . What are those things? Elephants?  
  
The eyes of the two little stone statues look at my ankles wordlessly, of course wordlessly -- they're stone. Stone with a big slab of rounded glass . . . What a coffee table.  
  
Yikes.  
  
I sit on the couch and stare at it. When he and Kevin brought it in I think I had his shock over the couch beat, not because of what kind indication it was for our relationship, but because . . . The thing is actually kind of creepy. I'm truly going to try and convince him to return it because . . . Yikes.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Hi, baby," I smile at him from the couch and I don't bother to move, just beckoning him over. You'd think this whole sex frenzy would cool way more than it has, which is hardly any, and that's when we are too tired to move from working. . . And I have to go in at eight tonight and I am *not* missing out.  
  
Being a waitress at the club doesn't pay as much as stripping, but stripping didn't pay as much as private dancing, I got over both financial temptations because I just didn't want to do either. I know it's different with everyone, and I'd never lecture someone, saying that if their relationship is serious and intimate they shouldn't be stripping - that was just how I saw it for my relationship. It doesn't take much to make me change my ways - just a complete upheaval of life, falling in love . . . Maybe a robbery.  
  
That's all.  
  
But the bills get paid anyway, my mother's insurance most importantly . . . I haven't seen her since that night in July and I'm trying to respect that, as hard as it is. But her hospital bill is finished and I have some extra money to take the business classes a Rechen. I don't know what I want to be yet, but business is always a safe start.  
  
Harry smiles, dropping his briefcase and throwing off his jacket on the weird table. "Hard day?"  
  
He takes off the gun holster, setting it on the table too. I eye it as he talks; it's kind of sexy when he wears that. That's Harry, my teacher boyfriend, all danger, baby.  
  
"I had a good day. 'Course I got in trouble."  
  
"You? You're kidding. My epitome of perfection?" I tease as he sits beside me, pulling me over his lap, a leg on either side. "What for?"  
  
"Simple exercise in overreaction."  
  
"You pulled the gun?"  
  
"I pulled the gun."  
  
I laugh and finger his buttons. Plain white shirt, it's a pretty nondescript thing to get heated up over but . . . He makes it easy. "You gotta quit that."  
  
"It was on safety," he says like it is therefore a non-issue.  
  
"Right," I smile, kissing him.  
  
"I love you."  
  
**  
  
"I love you," she says. Just like she tells me before I leave for work, and when she comes home at night. She touches the front of my shirt and sighs a little, rolling her hips into me . . . She looks into my eyes the whole time, real soft like she'll love me no matter what I do. And over the past eight months I probably tested it a couple times.  
  
This is why, when Lisa finally decided to dump him, I couldn't point out to Milton what a simpleton he'd been. If it had been me, I'd be devastated. I can say that now, admit that kind of stuff - mostly in my head, but it's something.  
  
I got a lot of flack for a while when the news hit Winslow, Dana Poole, ex- student living with her ex-teacher, I had a lot of explaining to do to Steven, then again with Guber - that's the part I really hated. Harvey proclaimed that if Dana and I ever have a child it would give the 'Village of the Damned' kids a run for their money - It's Dana and me; I'd expect nothing else.  
  
It's all calmed down now, everyone moving on to the fact a student, Jeremy White may have kept his mother locked in the basement and may have cut off her hand - Yet the woman is still as emotional as an ice cube and working at Winslow. Go figure. Course Lauren still does that uncomfortable shuffle when she sees me coming.  
  
"Wanna break in the table?" I smile. It's two elephants side by side, with a thick piece of glass settled over it and, on second thought, may not be the strongest thing to be thrusting on.  
  
"About that table," she smirks.  
  
"I bought that for us. Like the couch." That should get a point.  
  
She stares at me, sighing a little without saying anything before, finally, "It's a great match."  
  
I know she thinks it's hideous, after all this time, I can tell a lot about her, but it is a cool table, and I did get it for us.  
  
"Like it?"  
  
"It's so, *SO* intriguing." She hates it and she's letting me know it now, that raised eyebrow letting me know she's caught on to my minor manipulation.  
  
"So what do you say?"  
  
"I say . . . we'll have to break it in by making love beside it since it's glass and I'm not too keen on shards in my backside . . ." Her voice is sexy, but everything else about her is hinging on a laugh as she tilts her head and smiles.  
  
I actually feel the curve as it moves across my mouth. Dana, the surprise . . . With our couch, our bed, our *home*, and our table. The coffee table with stone elephants and the kind of eyes that follow you . . . She hates it, but I like it . . .  
  
And she loves me.  
  
The End. 


End file.
